st
passionate voice, and she spoke with deliberation and a look which left
no way open to doubt. She was now a valiant little figure making a fight
for happiness.

"I can't prevent that," he responded stubbornly.

She made a quick, appealing motion of her hands. "Would you prevent it?
Aren't you glad to see me? Don't you love me any more? You used to
love me. In spite of all, you used to love me. Even though you hated my
money, and I hated your gambling--your betting on horses. You used to
love me--I was sure you did then. Don't you love me now, Shiel?"

A gloomy look passed over his face. Memory of other days was admonishing
him. "What is the good of one loving when the other doesn't? And,
anyhow, I made up my mind five years ago that I would not live on my
wife. I haven't done so, and I don't mean to 'do so. I don't mean to
take a penny of your money. I should curse it to damnation if I was
living on it. I'm not, and I don't mean to do so."

"Then I'll stay here and work too, without it," she urged, with a light
in her eyes which they had never known.

He laughed mirthlessly. "What could you do--you never did a day's work
in your life!"

"You could teach me how, Shiel."

His jaw jerked in a way it had when he was incredulous. "You used to
say I was only--mark you, only a dreamer and a sportsman. Well, I'm no
longer a dreamer and a sportsman; I'm a practical man. I've done with
dreaming and sportsmanship. I can look at a situation as it is, and--"

"You are dreaming--but yes, you are dreaming still," she interjected.
"And you are a sportsman still, but it is the sport of a dreamer, and a
mad dreamer too. Shiel, in spite of all my faults in the past, I come
to you, to stay with you, to live on what you earn if you like, if it's
only a loaf of bread a day. I--I don't care about my money. I don't care
about the luxuries which money can buy; I can do without them if I have
you. Am I not to stay, and won't you--won't you kiss me, Shiel?"

She came close to him-came round the table till she stood within a few
feet of him.

There was one trembling instant when he would have taken her hungrily
into his arms, but as if some evil spirit interposed with malign
purpose, there came the sound of feet on the gravel outside, and the
figure of a man darkened the doorway. It was Augustus Burlingame, whose
face as he saw Mona Crozier took on an ironical smile.

"Yes--what do you want?" inquired Crozier quietly. "A few words