would have liked to carry to her a story in which he posed in the rôle of an indulgent benefactor. But the habits of a lifetime are not easily broken. His voice was very little softened; in fact, it affected young Baird like cold steel on a recently inflicted wound.

"This-er-lady," he questioned, "is she a depositor of high standing? Has she been running a large account with the bank?"

Baird flushed. "No," he admitted, unwillingly. "I can't say she has a large account. She has been reduced to working for her living, but I know—”

Farnham did not lift his eyes from the careful scrutiny of his finger nails.

"Your knowledge," he stated, coldly, "is not a consideration. What standing has the lady with the bank officials?"

There was a painful silence. "She is not well known," said Baird at last, his momentary flush succeeded by a gray pallor.

"Not well known," Farnham smiled. "In other words, you were assured that your action in permitting an overdraft would not have been sanctioned by higher authority."

"I did not ask for an O. K." "Quite so."

"I did not think it necessary!" "Not when, by neglecting it," in a voice of steel, " you were laying yourself liable to the charge under the law of misappropriation of bank funds embezzlement even!"

"You mean-"faltered Baird, clutching the edge of the desk on which he was leaning.

"That I have no choice but to report this matter to the bank officials and to incorporate it in my report to the Comptroller of the Currency."

your personal account, if your sympathies were enlisted?"

The young teller flushed. "I wasn't in a position to raise such a sum, sir," thrusting the words from him in abject self-abasement. "These are personal matters, but you force me to explain. My salary barely covers my expensesI support my mother and sister, and, as you know, living is high; I can't save anything!"

Farnham tapped the desk with his pencil. The inconsiderable movement irritated the younger man's tortured A groan escaped his lips.

nerves.

The bank-examiner rose to his feet. "As I have said," he repeated, snapping an elastic band over the checks in his hand, "it is an extremely unpleasant duty, but I have no choice."

"No choice!" whispered the teller, rising too. "Do you realize what this means to me? I beg you, sir, to-to wait- Give me time, a day even! I am certain the matter can be adjusted.”

The two men were standing face to face now in the failing light, and Farnham's eyes narrowed as he measured the young teller's splendid height. Looking, he was pricked by a meteoric pang of uncontrollable and belittling envy. Confronting a fleshly reality that suggested largeness and power, a shaming sense of personal inconsequence assailed him. Baird had raised himself to his feet at an inopportune moment.

Farnham's eyes hardened. “What you suggest is quite impossible," he said, coldly. "My duty is plain, and I will not evade it." He turned his eyes away as he spoke, for emotion of any kind embarrassed him.

Young Baird quivered under the blow. "You know, Mr. Farnham," he ex

"I regret it as much as you do," Farnham continued, with unshakable finality in his voice. "But duty is duty."

"But, sir-Mr. Farnham!" Baird was fighting like a trapped animal. "Why, "Why, don't you see, the lady is absolutely trustworthy! The bank will not lose anything, if you can just wait a day even. I can see her this evening-”

Farnham held up a silencing hand. "Why didn't you accommodate her from

nervous tremor from his voice, that overdrafts are honored daily in almost every bank in the country."

"Not without referring them to proper authority," Farnham interrupted. "Why, you must see yourself, sir, that this looks remarkably like a conspiracy."

"A conspiracy?" repeating the word in a whisper.

"A conspiracy," reiterated Farnham, firmly, his voice tinged with a selfcongratulatory superiority. "It is my

duty to lay the matter before the bank officials."

"I will lose my position!" Baird's face was aging before the other man's eyes. "It means disgrace-imprisonment even-"

"You should have thought of that before." Farnham took up his hat and gloves.

"I did think of it, but-a conspiracy, you say?" gathering all his strength to resist the undeveloped enmity he saw in the other's cold eyes. "Why, you must understand. I have known this lady since we were children-she is self-supporting -has never before been obliged to borrow money. She came to me in desperation -I couldn't refuse to help her. flinging out his hands in despair-"Iwhy, I care for her; have cared-"

I"

Farnham turned quickly. "Be careful, sir, be careful. You are supplying a plausible reason for your action."

Baird almost staggered. "You mean," he stammered-" you suspectGood God! She knows nothing of this. Why, I Do you think I am in a position to confess my feelings to any woman? I haven't anything to offer-I have kept away from her! She doesn't even dream—”

Farnham held up his hand. "I beg, Mr. Baird," he requested, petulantly, "that you will not importune me further. Every word is but exposing your unfortunate position-I am speaking of appearances, of course. Why, the very fact that you care for this lady, that you are unable to marry her because of your -er-straitened circumstances, is evidence enough. What more naturalwhat more natural, I say, than that you should-”

"I must report the matter immediately."

"I have two women dependent on me, sir!"

"You should have thought of that before, Mr. Baird." Casting a furtive glance at the strong young figure as he moved toward the door, "You can doubtless find other positions, other work-"

"With this behind me!" Baird laughed with contemptuous bitterness. He turned his face toward the kind evening light. "And overdrafts are honored every day-" he said, dizzily. "Every day!"

"Not to irresponsible people, Mr. Baird. Not to persons whom no one is willing to vouch for. As I have said before, there is no O. K. on this check." Farnham settled his hat carefully on his thin hair, and paused to make a memorandum, methodically noting the name on the check, the amount, etc.

"One day, sir! I implore you!" Baird's voice was strident with emotion.

"Not one day, sir, not one!" Farnham, gathering up the loose papers and the memorandum, walked to the door.

The young teller was standing with his head turned toward the light. His face was marred by an expression of irremediable pain. He had not made a movement of any sort.

Farnham turned his eyes away and went out.

A glance at the clock showed him it was too late to see the president. Well, the matter would have to wait over until the morning.

It was spring-time, and there was a tender softness in the atmosphere. The twilight, gentle as a woman's breath, was tarnishing the golden light of the earlier day, and a languorous good-will

"My dear young man," Farnham held up a quieting hand, "I am simply showing you how this affair appears, how it will appear to the bank officials. I assure you I feel a great sympathy, a very great sympathy."

played around the street corners. On the tall walls of the office buildings a pink afterglow of sunshine rested; and the dusty windows looked down from their rouged background like gray eyes that smiled.

Farnham told himself that he wanted to be kind, and yet the interview through

"My dear sir," pompously, "I have told you that I never evade a duty." "You will not wait a day-one day even!"

in him an unacknowledged sense of selfcondemnation. However, duty was duty, and he had never shirked facing it. He made up his mind to lay the matter before the officials as soon as the bank

opened in the morning, and in the mean time to dismiss the matter from his mind. But, much to his surprise, he found the latter resolution required considerable mental effort. Detached fragments of the conversation returned to him with persistence. He repeated mentally his own remarks, as if to assure himself of their justice. A sense of intense annoyance animated him toward the man who had disturbed his somnolent self-esteem; and later that evening, when he was standing before the mirror in his room, rather consciously tying and untying his bulky four-in-hand tie, a nagging memory of the young teller's physical beauty returned to him. He regarded the face and figure reflected in the glass for the first time with a disparaging eye. He was unpleasantly lean, and his clothes hung awkwardly from his stooped shoulders. The picture was not alluring. For the first time a doubt assailed him. Did she love him? Could she? He took from his pocketbook the little folded blue note. It was formal, and rather chilly; but all women were shy, and, after all, the great fact was that he had got what he wanted!

An hour or so later, when he stopped at a flower-stand on his way up-town, he was radiating his normal affirmative prosperity. He bought a carnation for his buttonhole and a large bunch of violets. They were not quite fresh, and though he spent an extra ten cents for a purple cord to tie around his offering, Farnham was dissatisfied. A little farther down the street he passed a florist's window, brilliantly lighted. A shamefaced desire to give her the best, no matter what it cost, possessed him.

He turned and entered the store. When he emerged he was carrying a fanciful box, tied with lilac ribbon and artistically decorated with purple blossoms. He had paid five dollars for his bunch of violets this time, and the despised fifty-cent offering lay on the floor of the florist's shop.

Farnham assured himself that a plausible reason for his extravagance was that she somehow reminded him of violets, and anything less than a flawless tribute would detract from the symbolical perfection of his thought.

trying to justify his lenient attitude toward the lady of his love. His life had been so utterly devoid of tenderness that he found himself excusing and combating the appearing of pacific symptoms that surprised and disturbed him. Love had not been given to him, nor had he given it before, and it had caused a mighty chemicalization in his being, stultifying every reasoning faculty, and insulting every carefully followed precedent in his life. It was like some insidious disease whose creeping progress he watched with fascinated horror, and was yet unable to arrest. Cold, hard, and unyielding, he sometimes feared that the passion that possessed him was a subtle form of insanity, and that its tigerish intensity would eventually gain control of his mind as well as his body. This thought filled him with a physical as well as mental nausea.

A man who had dominated and domineered, he found himself as obedient as a child in the hands of a frail girl whose every physical aspect suggested impotency. He struggled with praiseworthy persistence against the pliant yielding of his will to her indifferent demands, but seemed unable to overcome it. He often feared that the solidity of his character in other respects would be undermined, but the incidents of the past hours had reassured him on that point. He had shown no weakness, no foolish scruples, no vacillating sympathy.

He decided to tell Miss Andrews nothing of the occurrence, as he had an unpleasant idea that she might disturb his judgment. Women were manifestly chicken-hearted, and a wise man never gave them the opportunity to shake his decisions.

As he entered the car which was to carry him to the remote up-town district where Miss Andrews lived, the thought of how seldom he had been permitted to enter the home of the lady of his love presented itself to him. They had nearly always met at other people's houses, or she had been his rather unwilling guest at the theaters and restaurants. Well, all the old ways would be changed now. Farnham smiled again; he was reflecting on how soon he would overcome that

Miss Andrews's home was one of those ridiculous little affairs known as "three-room apartments." The intimate proximity of the tiny rooms was such that it was impossible to get away from anything, even one's self. Farnham cast a rather contemptuous glance around as the hall door swung open before him. He would change all this, too. An ornate suite in one of the big up-town hotels teased his mental vision. It would be expensive, of course, but for her for her! A very sweet voice spoke from the adjoining room. "Just go in," it said. "I won't be a moment."

Farnham squeezed himself and his violets through the narrow hallway. His head almost touched the ceiling, and he was not a tall man. Again a remembrance of the young teller's superb height assailed him. It had been an unfortunate affair! Farnham laid his hat and stick and the violets down on the small center-table, and wandered around the room, inquisitively examining the furnishings. Everything was inexpensive and humble, though quite pretty. He smiled in kind superiority. see! She should see!

She should

As the minutes passed and she did not appear, Farnham took out his pocketbook, and sitting by the table, extracted the memorandum he had made earlier in the day. He smoothed it out on the table. Well! Well! What a fool the man had been to sacrifice himself so for any woman. Seven hundred dollars! Quite a tidy little sum.

A light voice broke the silence. Farnham jumped to his feet. Miss Andrews was standing in the doorway, stretching her hand out to him across the little table. "I have kept you waiting," she said, timidly, her words scarcely rising above a whisper.

"No! Oh no!" Her hand was like ice as his closed over it. What a small hand it was! He did not release it, but tried to pull her closer to himself; she resisted, fear in her eyes.

"I got your note," Farnham began, foolishly. He was embarrassed, and was ashamed of it.

"Yes. Please-you-you hurt my hand!" trying to drag it away.

"Excuse me! There! Is that better?" He loosened his hold, advancing toward

She trembled. "Don't, please! Really, you are hurting me." She crowded herself against the wall, pulling her hands forcibly out of his. "I"-her lips trembling" I have so much to say! Please sit down."

Farnham hesitated. He was overcome with a desire to snatch her unwilling body and crush it-hurt it! She was his, his. He had never waited long for what he wanted. But in the short, emotion-crowded moment that followed he found that he was seating himself obediently.

She stood facing him, her hands clenched together before him, her slim throat lifted.

Farnham noticed the throbbing pulses under the white skin. She was such a soft, fair thing; so surely the obedient slave of love. He would teach her!

She was speaking with an effort. "I don't think," choosing her words with care, "that you quite realize-I mean, I want to be fair. You told me once that you wanted to marry me, no matter what I was, what I thought; that you just wanted-me! Do you still feel that way?"

Again she shrank away. "Perhaps you don't know," explaining with painful difficulty, "that I-that I am not very-demonstrative, that I can't-" Her voice rose in a little wail of anguish. "Oh," she protested, despairingly, "I can't give you much! I have had such a hard life. No, please, please don't touch me. Since my mother died I seem to be frozen here," laying her hands on her heart. "I haven't been able-”

Farnham rose to his feet. "I want you-any way," he stammered, unsteadily, the warm light of demand in his eyes any way."

She put two icy hands on his chest, holding him back. "Wait," whispering the words. "You don't understand all. You know so little of me. Won't you please sit down? I can't talk this way. Please!"

As Farnham complied with her request, she sighed, as one who has been granted a blessed reprieve. 66 You see," her pearl