A few days after he had talked with the doctor Danvers saw Miss Blair crossing the street just ahead of him. He hastened to overtake her--he would put an end to her coldness and her repulses. As he dodged a car, he noted in her walk the pride and courage that had recently been added to her bearing. He thought he understood her attitude toward him--toward the whole world; and a flood of loving pity swept over him. Reaching the other side of the street, he found that she had disappeared. He looked up and down in the dusk, but caught no further sight of the elusive Miss Blair; and after lingering on the street for a half hour, he returned to the hotel. As he ascended the stairs to the first floor he caught a glimpse of Charlie Blair, just entering the Latimers' apartments. His vexation at Winifred's avoidance was a small matter to the anger that now flamed within. Small wonder that Miss Blair wished to meet no one while this folly was unchecked! Yet he felt that he must share her trouble, and resolved to make one more attempt to see her that evening. She opened the door in response to his firm knock after dinner, hesitating perceptibly when she saw him. But Philip would not be denied, and entered with a determined resolution. The girl's heart rose high--fluttered, and almost ceased to beat. He was going to speak; she must not allow it. "Where did you go to-night?" he asked, as he put his hat and stick on the table. "I saw you on Warren street and tried to overtake you, but you disappeared. I prowled around hoping to find you again; and I had my new shoes on, too, and they hurt me." The whimsical gaiety of the complaint took away Winifred's reserve, and without attempting to explain her disappearance, she smiled a welcome, though she soon fell silent under the burden of her heart. Philip had called with a set purpose, yet he found no words as he sat before the smouldering fire. He had time, waiting for the moment of speech, to note the pathetic droop of her shoulders and the weariness of her beautiful eyes. Evidently the courage and strength of the day had been exhausted. She played idly with a book, but laid it aside while she roused the half-burned wood into a shower of sparks. Philip reached and took up the book abstractedly, and carelessly turned the leaves, wondering how he should say what was in his heart. A loose paper fluttered to the floor. He picked it up. It was the newspaper cutting that Winifred had saved, but had forgotten to copy, in the stress of her anxieties. Danvers was about to replace it when something familiar made him scan it eagerly. Radiant with joy, he glanced at his companion, but Winifred stood at the mantel with averted face. He took out his note-book, found a little, old, yellow scrap, and held both slips in his hand as he rose. He drew the girl to him, startled, resisting.