e telephoned the Rainier-Grand hotel. "Give
me John Banks, please," he said. "Yes, I mean Lucky Banks of Alaska." And,
after an interval, "Hello, Banks! This is Tisdale talking. I want you to
come up to my rooms. Yes, to-night. I am starting east in the morning.
Thank you. Good-by."

He put up the receiver and brought Weatherbee's box from the safe to the
table under the hanging lamp. Seating himself, he took out the plan of the
project and spread it before him. He had not closed the lid, and presently
his eyes fell on David's watch. He lifted it and, hesitating to open it,
sat trying to recall that picture in the lower case. He wondered how, once
having seen it, even in firelight and starshine, he could have forgotten
it. The face would be younger of course, hardly more than a promise of the
one he knew; still there would be the upward curling lashes, the
suggestion of a fault in the nose, the piquant curve of the short, upper
lip, and perhaps that pervading, illusive something that was the secret of
her charm. "You were right, David, old man," he said at last, "it was a
face to fight for, wait for. And madam, madam, a woman with a face like
yours must have had some capacity for loving."

His hand was on the spring, but he did not press it. A noise outside in
the corridor arrested him. He knew it was too soon for Banks to arrive,
but he laid the watch back in the box and closed the lid. "You will never
marry Frederic Morganstein," he said, and rising, began to walk the floor.
"It would be monstrous. You must not. You will not. I shall not let you."

CHAPTER XVIII

THE OPTION

Vivian count stood on the first hill. The brick walls of the business
center filled the levels below, and Mrs. Weatherbee's windows, like
Tisdale's, commanded the inner harbor rimmed by Duwamish Head, with a
broader sweep of the Sound beyond framed in wooded islands and the
snow-peaks of the Olympic Peninsula. Southeastward, from her alcove, lifted
the matchless, solitary crest of Rainier. It was the morning following the
cruise on the _Aquila_, and Mrs. Weatherbee was taking a light breakfast
in her room. The small table, placed near an open casement, allowed her to
enjoy both views. She inhaled the salt breeze with the gentle pleasure of
a woman whose sense has been trained, through generations, to fine and
delicate perfumes; her eyes caught the sapphire sparkle of the sea, and
her face had the freshness and warmth of a very young gi