ees it?" he ventured.

Madame, who was sitting with her chin in her hands, staring across the
table at Monsieur, started.

"Yes," she smiled. "It is beautiful."

But, when Jacques turned away to carve, she continued to stare again
at Mr. Pendleton.

"It's in you," she exclaimed. "Oh, what a chance you have!"

"You think I'll do?"

"I think that in two years you'll be outselling any one in the
office," she answered.

His face flushed at the praise.

"That's straight?"

"That's straight," she nodded. "And within another year Farnsworth
will pay you anything you demand."

"Ten thousand?"

"A gift like yours is worth that to the house--if you don't spoil
it."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, I mean you must keep it fresh and clean and free, and not mix it
up with money," she ran on eagerly. "You must keep right on selling
for the fun of the game and not for the gain. The gain will come fast
enough. Don't worry about that. But if you make it the end, it may
make an end of your gift. And you mustn't get foolish with success.
And you mustn't--oh, there are a hundred ways of spoiling it all."

It was her apparent sure knowledge of these things that constantly
surprised him.

"How do you know?" he demanded.

"Because I've seen and heard. All I can do is to stop, look, and
listen, isn't it?"

"And warn the speeders?" he laughed.

"If I could do that much it would be something," she answered
wistfully.

"Will you warn me?"

"I'm warning you now."

She met his eyes with a puzzled frown.

"I've seen a lot of men start right, but they don't stay right. Why
don't they?"

"But a lot of them do," he answered.

"And they are the kind that just stay. I hate that kind. I hate people
who just stay. That's why I hate myself sometimes."

He looked up at her quickly. It was the first indication he had that
she was not continually in an unbroken state of calm content. He
caught her brown eyes grown suddenly full, as if they themselves had
been startled by the unexpected exclamation.

"What's that you said?" he demanded.

She tried to laugh, but she was still too disconcerted to make it a
successful effort. She was not often goaded into as intimate a
confession as this.

"It isn't worth repeating," she answered uneasily.

"You said you hated yourself sometimes."

"The steak is very, very good," she answered, smiling.

"Then you aren't hating yourself now?"

"No, no," she replied quickly. "It's onl