Some of his own holdings were
imperilled, and the man was working like some high-geared, delicate,
strong machine--strung to full tension, going at full speed, accurate,
never hesitating, with the proper word and decision and act ready and
prompt as clockwork. Stocks and bonds, loans and mortgages, margins
and securities--here was a world of finance, and there was no room in
it for the human world or the world of nature.

When the luncheon hour drew near there came a slight lull in the uproar.

Maxwell stood by his desk with his hands full of telegrams and
memoranda, with a fountain pen over his right ear and his hair hanging
in disorderly strings over his forehead. His window was open, for the
beloved janitress Spring had turned on a little warmth through the
waking registers of the earth.

And through the window came a wandering--perhaps a lost--odour--a
delicate, sweet odour of lilac that fixed the broker for a moment
immovable. For this odour belonged to Miss Leslie; it was her own,
and hers only.

The odour brought her vividly, almost tangibly before him. The world
of finance dwindled suddenly to a speck. And she was in the next
room--twenty steps away.

"By George, I'll do it now," said Maxwell, half aloud. "I'll ask her
now. I wonder I didn't do it long ago."

He dashed into the inner office with the haste of a short trying to
cover. He charged upon the desk of the stenographer.

She looked up at him with a smile. A soft pink crept over her cheek, and
her eyes were kind and frank. Maxwell leaned one elbow on her desk. He
still clutched fluttering papers with both hands and the pen was above
his ear.

"Miss Leslie," he began hurriedly, "I have but a moment to spare. I want
to say something in that moment. Will you be my wife? I haven't had time
to make love to you in the ordinary way, but I really do love you. Talk
quick, please--those fellows are clubbing the stuffing out of Union
Pacific."

"Oh, what are you talking about?" exclaimed the young lady. She rose to
her feet and gazed upon him, round-eyed.

"Don't you understand?" said Maxwell, restively. "I want you to marry
me. I love you, Miss Leslie. I wanted to tell you, and I snatched a
minute when things had slackened up a bit. They're calling me for
the 'phone now. Tell 'em to wait a minute, Pitcher. Won't you, Miss
Leslie?"

The stenographer acted very queerly. At first she seemed overcome with
amazement; then tears flowed from her wondering