The boy arrived with the mail. It contained no letter from Zoie and Alfred went to bed with an uneasy mind. The next morning he was down at his office early, still no letter from Zoie. Refusing his partner's invitation to lunch, Alfred sat alone in his office, glad to be rid of intrusive eyes. “He would write to Jimmy Jinks,” he decided, “and find out whether Zoie were in any immediate danger.” Not willing to await the return of his stenographer, or to acquaint her with his personal affairs, Alfred drew pen and paper toward him and sat helplessly before it. How could he inquire about Zoie without appearing to invite a reconciliation with her? While he was trying to answer this vexed question, a sharp knock came at the door. He turned to see a uniformed messenger holding a telegram toward him. Intuitively he felt that it contained some word about Zoie. His hand trembled so that he could scarcely sign for the message before opening it. A moment later the messenger boy was startled out of his lethargy by a succession of contradictory exclamations. “No!” cried Alfred incredulously as he gazed in ecstasy at the telegram. “Yes!” he shouted, excitedly, as he rose from his chair. “Where's a time table?” he asked the astonished boy, and he began rummaging rapidly through the drawers of his desk. “Any answer?” inquired the messenger. “Take this,” said Alfred. And he thrust a bill into the small boy's hand. “Yes, sir,” answered the boy and disappeared quickly, lest this madman might reconsider his generosity. Alfred threw down the time table in despair. “No train for Chicago until night,” he cried; but his mind was working fast. The next moment he was at the telephone, asking for the Division Superintendent of the railway line. When Alfred's partner returned from luncheon he found a curt note informing him that Alfred had left on a special for Chicago and would “write.” “I'll bet it's his wife!” said the partner. CHAPTER XIV During the evening of the same day that Alfred was enjoying such pleasurable emotions, Zoie and Aggie were closeted in the pretty pink and white bedroom that the latter had tried to describe to Jimmy. On a rose-coloured couch in front of the fire sat Aggie threading ribbons through various bits of soft white linen, and in front of her, at the foot of a rose-draped bed, knelt Zoie. She was trying the effect of a large pink bow against the lace flounce of an empty but inviting bassinette. “How's that?” she called to Aggie, as she turned her head to one side and surveyed the result of her experiment with a critical eye. Aggie shot a grudging glance at the bassinette. “I wish you wouldn't bother me every moment,” she said. “I'll never get all these things finished.” Apparently Zoie decided that the bow was properly placed, for she applied herself to sewing it fast to the lining. In her excitement she gave the thread a vicious pull. “Oh, dear, oh dear, my thread is always breaking!” she sighed in vexation.