"It isn't really very funny," he said, "Ask your brother-in-law. I had an interview with him before I came here. And I think there's a chance that he may give me a desk and a small salary in his office." "How absurd!" she said. "It is rather absurd. I'm so absolutely useless. It's only because of the relationship that Mr. Craig is doing this." She said uneasily: "You are not really serious, are you?" "Grimly serious." "About a--a desk and a salary--in my brother-in-law's office?" "Unless you'll hire me as a useful man. Otherwise, I hope for a big desk and a small salary. I went to Mr. Craig this morning, and the minute I saw him I knew he was fine enough to be your brother-in-law. And I said, 'I am Philip Ormond Berkley; how do you do!' And he said, 'How do you do!' And I said, 'I'm a relation,' and he said, 'I believe so.' And I said, 'I was educated at Harvard and in Leipsic; I am full of useless accomplishments, harmless erudition, and insolvent amiability, and I am otherwise perfectly worthless. Can you give me a position?'" "And he said: 'What else is the matter?' And I said, 'The stock market.' And that is how it remains, I am to call on him to-morrow." She said in consternation: "Forgive me. I did not think you meant it. I did not know that you were--were----" "Ruined!" he nodded laughingly. "I am, practically. I have a little left--badly invested--which I'm trying to get at. Otherwise matters are gay enough." She said wonderingly: "Had this happened when--I saw you that first time?" "It had just happened. I looked the part, didn't I?" "No. _How_ could you be so--interesting and--and be--what you were--knowing this all the while?" "I went to that party absolutely stunned. I saw you in a corner of the box--I had just been hearing about you--and--I don't know now what I said to you. Afterward"--he glanced at her--"the world was spinning, Mrs. Paige. You only remained real--" His face altered subtly. "And when I touched you----" "I gave you a waltz, I believe," she said, striving to speak naturally; but her pulses had begun to stir again; the same inexplicable sense of exhilaration and insecurity was creeping over her. With a movement partly nervous she turned toward the door, but there sounded no rustle of her sister's skirts from the stairs, and her reluctant eyes slowly reverted to him, then fell in silence, out of which she presently strove to extract them both with some casual commonplace. He said in a low voice, almost to himself: "I want you to think well of me." She gathered all her composure, steadied her senses to choose a reply, and made a blunder: "Do you really care what I think?" she asked lightly, and bit her lip too late. "Do you believe I care about anything else in the world--now?" She went on bravely, blindly: