atched the cards from the table
and tore them into bits. "I hate the sight of them," he said. The clock
struck five. He was reminded of his engagement at the Professor's, and
he hastened to fill it. He had dreaded to meet the woman who had scared
him out of her dooryard. His nerve had been lead. Now it was iron.

CHAPTER XI.

A MAN

As Milford hastened over the road that led to the Professor's house, a
picture thrust itself into his mind, to shorten his stride, to make him
slow. He saw the girl's hand held out to him, and he wondered why he had
not dared to touch it. Surely, there was no labor mark upon it, pink and
soft-looking, a hand for the pressure of love and not for work in a
field. She had said that she liked him. But any one might have said
that. She had said it with a frankness which showed that she had not
told more than the truth. But why should she have told more than the
truth? Why have had more than truth to tell? He put it all aside and
strode onward toward the Professor's house. A light gleamed feebly
through the mist.

He unwound the chain from about the gate-post. A dog barked. The door
opened and the Professor stepped out, gowned and slippered. He seized
his visitor warmly by the hand and led him into the sitting-room, dim
with faded furnishings. His fingers were ink-stained, and his red hair
was awry as if he had raked his head for thought. Mrs. Dolihide came
into the room.

"My dear," said the Professor, "permit me to present to you, and to the
humble hospitality of our home, our neighbor and my friend, Mr. Milford,
the so-called mysterious, but, indeed, the plain and straightforward.
Mrs. Dolihide, Mr. Milford."

She smiled pleasantly, drew back with a bow, stepped forward and held
out her hand. She said that she was delighted to meet him. She had heard
her husband speak of him so often. Milford breathed a new atmosphere. He
saw that there was to be no allusion to the dust that was kicked up in
front of the house. From the dining-room there came a stimulating sniff
of coffee. A cat came in with a limber walk and stiffened herself to rub
against Milford's chair.

"A fine cat," he said, stroking her.

"A marvelous animal," replied the Professor. "We have had her now going
on--how long have we had her, my dear?"

"Oh, she's only been here about two weeks," his wife answered.

"Ah, I was thinking of her predecessor, a most wonderful cat, with a
keen sense of propriety, never distu