live
looked up at him to carry home her admonition; "he says that he has
warned you more than once that you must slow down a little, or else
stop."

"At least, that would be restful." Brenton spoke more to himself than
Olive.

But she turned on him.

"Reed hasn't found it so," she said.

Brenton's face changed, clouded.

"That is an extreme case, Miss Keltridge." Then, with an effort, he
changed the subject and became frankly personal. "How is Opdyke getting
on?"

She shook her head.

"He isn't getting on, unless you count as the _on_ a distinct gain in
the beauty of holiness. No," she interrupted him with a sudden gesture;
"I don't mean the kind of holiness you preach, on Sunday; but the kind
we both of us admire, on Monday morning."

"Is there a difference?" he queried, while his gray eyes searched her
face.

She met his eyes unflinchingly.

"Isn't there? Preacher that you are, I defy you to deny it."

And then the maid opened the door before them, and they passed in.

Once in the hall, however, Olive changed her mind about going up to
Reed's room.

"I think I'll wait, Mr. Brenton," she said suddenly. "Really, I have
nothing much ahead of me, to-day. I can come in later, just as well;
and you are a novelty, in these latter days. Go on alone, and talk
man-talk to Reed. It will do him any amount more good than dozens of my
visitations. Just don't tell him I was here, and then he won't have any
qualms about holding on to you till the last possible minute. I'll come
in again."

"But--"

"No _but_ about it. I tell you he needs men. In fact, we all do, now
and then, no matter how we try to veil the fact. If you want proof, ask
any sane woman whether she would rather go out to luncheon or to
dinner. Granted her sincerity isn't complicated with questionings about
a frock, she will declare for dinner, every time. Go in, though. This
is most irrelevant. Moreover, by way of living up to my own theory, I'm
going to take the time when you are out of the way, to drop in on Mrs.
Brenton. Good bye, and--be very good to Reed."

The door shut behind her, and Brenton went on up the stairs, wondering,
at every step, what had been the meaning of her final phrase. Meaning
it obviously had. Olive rarely talked at random to any of her
acquaintances; never at all, it seemed to Brenton, in thinking backward
over the way, from point to point, her mind apparently had been
marching on beside his own. Did her intuitions nev