“You may regret that,” said Arabella, coloring deeply. “I sat by Mr. Baker, of _The Quill_, at a dinner a little while ago, and we were talking about your books. And he said--he said your greatest weakness as a novelist was due to your never having--well”--she paused and drew closer under the protecting arm of her father--“you had never yourself been, as the saying is--in love--and he thought---- Well, this is shameful--but he and I--just as a joke--thought we d try to attract your attention by printing that plot advertisement. He said you were working too hard and seemed worried, and might bite; and then I thought it would be good fun to throw you into the lion’s den here to stir things up, as you did. And I had my car on the road last night ready to skip if things got too warm. Of course I couldn’t let you catch me; it would have spoiled all the fun! And it was I who shot off that gun last night to scare you--when old John was scolding you away from the place. But it was nasty of me, and not fair; and now, when everything else is all fixed and I’m so happy, I’m ashamed to look you in the face, knowing what a lot of trouble I’ve given you. And you’ll always hate me----” “I shall always love you,” said Farrington, stepping forward boldly and taking her hands. “You’ve made me live for once in my life--you’ve made me almost human,” he laughed. “And you’ve made me a braver man than I know how to be! You pulled down the silver trumpet out of heaven and gave it to me, and made me rich beyond words; and without you I should be sure to lose it again!” THE THIRD MAN I When Webster G. Burgess asked ten of his cronies to dine with him at the University Club on a night in January they assumed that the president of the White River National had been indulging in another adventure which he wished to tell them about. In spite of their constant predictions that if he didn’t stop hiding crooks in his house and playing tricks on the Police Department he would ultimately find himself in jail, Mr. Burgess continued to find amusement in frequent dallyings with gentlemen of the underworld. In a town of approximately three hundred thousand people a banker is expected to go to church on Sundays and otherwise conduct himself as a decent, orderly, and law-abiding citizen, but the president of the White River National did not see things in that light. As a member of the Board of Directors of the Released Prisoners’ Aid Society he was always ready with the excuse that his heart was deeply moved by the misfortunes of those who keep to the dark side of the street, and that sincere philanthropy covered all his sins in their behalf.