ll, how are we this morning?" he inquired cheerily, clasping Lutie's
hand. "Fine, I see. I happened to be passing with Simmy and thought I'd
run in and see--" His gaze fell upon the tall, motionless figure on the
opposite side of the room, and the words died on his lips.

"It's Anne," said Lutie fatuously.

For a moment there was not a sound or a movement in the little room. The
man was staring over Lutie's head at the slim, elegant figure in the
modish spring gown,--it was something smart and trig, he knew, and it was
not black. Then he advanced with his hand extended.

"I am glad to see you back, Anne. I heard you had returned." Their hands
met in a brief clasp. His face was grave, and a queer pallor had taken the
place of the warm glow of an instant before.

"Three days ago," she said, and that was all. Her throat was tight and
dry. He had not taken his eyes from hers. She felt them burning into her
own, and somehow it hurt,--she knew not why.

"Well, it's good to see you," he mumbled, finding no other words. He
pulled himself together with an effort. He had not expected to see her
here. He had dreamed of her during the night just past. "Simmy is waiting
down below in the car. I just dropped in for a moment. Can't keep him
waiting, Lutie, so I'll--"

"Won't you spare me a few moments, Braden?" said Anne steadily. "There is
something that I must say to you. To-morrow will not do. It must be now."

He looked concerned. "Has anything serious--"

"Nothing--yet," she broke in, anticipating his question.

"Sit down, Braden," said Lutie cheerfully. "I'll make myself scarce. I see
you are down for a big job to-day. Good boy! I told you they'd come your
way if you waited long enough. It is a big job, isn't it?"

"Ra-_ther_," said he, smiling. "I daresay it will make or break me."

"I should think you'd be frightfully nervous."

"Well, I'm not, strange to say. On the contrary, I'm as fit as a fiddle."

"When do you--perform this operation?" Anne asked, as Lutie left the room.

"This afternoon. He has a superstition about it. Doesn't want it done
until after banking hours. Queerest idea I've ever known." He spoke in
quick, jerky sentences.

She held her breath for an instant, and then cried out imploringly: "I
don't want you to do it, Braden,--I don't want you to do it. If not for my
sake, then for your own you must refuse to go on with it."

He looked straight into her troubled, frightened eyes. "I suppose you