"Is it possible!" I was genuinely surprised. "The time had seemed so short. I must go now and help Angélique with her new cake recipe--a cake we eat only in the States, and a good object lesson on the economic side." I rose and laid the gloves on the table. I had kept them on just a little longer than was necessary--because they were his! Foolish? Oh, yes, I knew it to be; but it was such a pleasure to indulge myself in foolishness that concerned nobody's pleasure but my own. "Sometime I want to ask you a few questions, Miss Farrell," said Mr. Ewart, as I turned to the door. "What about?" I was a little on the defensive. "I want to know how you came to have any such economic ideas in your thinking-box?" I turned again from the door to face him. "Have you ever lived in New York?" "No." "Have you ever been there?" There was a moment's hesitancy before he replied, thoughtfully: "Yes; I have been through it several times." "Then you must know something of the economic conditions of those four millions?" "Yes." "Do I answer you, when I tell you I was one four-millionth for seven years? That I struggled for my daily bread with the other four millions; that after seven years I found myself going under in the struggle, poor, alone, ill, with just twenty-two dollars to show for the seven years of work? Can you wonder that I am interested in your work after _my_ object lesson?" For a moment there was silence in the office. I broke it. "My two friends," I said lightly, "I have upstairs in my purse a little sum of fourteen dollars that I received from Mrs. Macleod when I was in New York; that was my passage money to Lamoral. I was too proud to owe anything to any one unknown to me, so took fourteen dollars of my twenty-two--all I possessed after the seven years' struggle--and paid my own passage. I 've wondered again and again to whom I should return this money. I have never had the courage to ask. Will you tell me now?" "I knew nothing of the money, Miss Farrell, or of you." Mr. Ewart spoke at last in a steady, but strained voice. Jamie's eyes were reddened. He held out his hand and I put mine into it. "That was n't friendly of you, Marcia--you should have told us." "Whose money is it, Jamie?" "It's the Doctor's." "His own?" "His very own; he told me. Why?" "Because I am so thankful to know that it is not from that accumulated sum; you know what he said. I would not like to touch it, coming from such an unknown source, besides--" "Pardon me," said Mr. Ewart rising abruptly. Going to the side door he called to Cale who was passing round the house. "I have to speak with Cale." He left the room, and Jamie and I stared at each other, an interrogation point in the eyes of each. The tin box still stood on the table. "What's in that?" Jamie demanded. "Filthy lucre," I said, turning for the second time to leave the room.