"It's not far from it, though." She was silent, but her eyes dropped. He sat down on the padded arm of the chair. "Do you know how much money I've made this week?" he said gaily. She looked up at him, surprised, and shook her head; but her velvet eyes grew wide when he told her. "I won it fairly," he said. "And I'm going to stake it all on one last bet." [Illustration: "I won it fairly, and I'm going to stake it all on one last bet."] "On--what?" "On--_you_. Now, _what_ do you think of that, you funny little thing?" "How--do you mean, Mr. Berkley?" He looked down into the eyes of a hurt child. "It goes into the bank in your name--if you say so." "For--what?" "I don't know," he said serenely, "but I am betting it will go for rent, and board, and things a girl needs--_when she has no man to ask them of--and nothing to pay for them_." "You mean no man---excepting--you?" "No," he said wearily, "I'm not trying to buy you." She crimsoned. "I thought--then why do you----" "Why? Good God, child! _I_ don't know! How do I know why I do anything? I've enough left for my journey. Take this and try to behave yourself if you can--in the Canterbury and out of it! . . . And buy a new lock for that door of yours. Good night." She sprang up and laid a detaining hand on his sleeve as he reached the hallway. "Mr. Berkley! I--I can't----" He said, smiling: "My manners are really better than that----" "I didn't mean----" "You ought to. Don't let any man take his leave in such a manner. Men believe a woman to be what she thinks she is. Think well of yourself. And go to bed. I never saw such a sleepy youngster in my life! Good night, you funny, sleepy little thing." "Mr. Berkley--I can't take--accept----" "Oh, listen to her!" he said, disgusted. "Can't I make a bet with my own money if I want to? I _am_ betting; and _you_ are holding the stakes. It depends on how you use them whether I win or lose." "I don't understand--I don't, truly," she stammered; "d-do you wish me to--leave--the Canterbury? Do you--_what_ is it you wish?" "You know better than I do. I'm not advising you. Where is your home? Why don't you go there? You have one somewhere, I suppose, haven't you?" "Y-yes; I had." "Well--where is it?" "In Philadelphia." "Couldn't you stand it?" he inquired with a sneer. "No." She covered her face with her hands. "Trouble?" "Y-yes." "Man?" "Y-y-yes." "Won't they take you back?" "I--haven't written." "Write. Home is no stupider than the Canterbury. Will you write?" She nodded, hiding her face. "Then--_that's_ settled. Meanwhile--" he took both her wrists and drew away her clinging hands: "I'd rather like to win this bet because--the odds are all against me." He smiled, letting her hands swing back and hang inert at her sides.