forgiven, by this time. I've
tried to make good, honestly, Elice; and to-night particularly--don't
stand me in the corner any longer, please. I've been punished enough."

"Punished!" The girl wheeled. "I wonder--" She checked herself suddenly.
"Very well," she digressed swiftly,--"wait. I'll be back soon," and she
was gone.

Alone Armstrong threw hat and topcoat into a chair almost irritably;
walking over to the grate, he stood gazing down into the blaze absently.
For some reason it called to mind another grate and another occasion when
he had looked absently therein; and almost unconsciously he caught
himself glancing at the shelf above, half expecting to catch the play of
light from a red decanter thereon. With the shrug of one who banishes an
unpleasant memory he turned away. He was still standing, however, when
the girl returned.

"Is there any way I can assist, with your father?" he asked
perfunctorily.

"No, thank you. He's asleep. It's mental, the trouble with him, more than
anything else." She sat down and indicated a place opposite. "I'm so glad
Harry Randall escaped in time."

"And I as well?"

"Yes, and you, assuredly."

Armstrong waited; but she said no more, and with an odd diffidence he
cleared his throat unnecessarily.

"It's sacrilege, though, for us to talk commonplaces to-night," he
anticipated hastily. "There's too much else to discuss, and to-day has
meant too much. Do you realize what this day really means for both of us,
Elice?"

The long fingers lay in the girl's lap, quite still.

"Perhaps. But tell me if you wish."

Again the fantastic diffidence held Armstrong in its grip; and again he
freed himself with an effort.

"It means, first of all, that at last I'm on my feet, where I've always
wished to be. It means that I'm to have my chance--and that again means
independence." He overlooked absolutely the egotism of the statement, was
unconscious of it. Success loomed too big and incontestible; possible
future failure lay too remote to merit consideration. "It means all of
this; but beyond that it means that I have the right to tell you again
that I love you. You know I love you, as always, Elice."

"As always?"

"Forget, please. This is to-day; my day, our day. You don't doubt I love
you?"

"No; I don't doubt it."

Armstrong breathed deep. An instinct all but overwhelming impelled him to
rise, to--he substituted with his eyes.

"You realize all that I wish to say," he said s