“What shall I do, Jim?” Lucy lifted her head. She had command of herself now. Jim went on tapping the desk until Lucy reached over and took the pencil from him and laid it down. “Your mother must go away,” he declared at last. “But where can she go? She has no money. Cousin Minnie doesn’t want her. She has no other relations, and besides, John won’t hear of her going.” “She must go anyway,” he repeated. “I can’t put her in the street. Oh, Jim, I don’t know what to do! She’s changed John so he’s not himself any more. Everything she does is perfect in his eyes. I’m always to blame. Everything I say is wrong. She’s even turned him against Dimmie. What shall I do? What shall I do?” and Lucy wrung her hands, her eyes fixed upon Jim’s in hungry appeal. Sprague stared at her. His own eyes widened. His self control went to the winds. “Do, Lucy? Do! Why come to me!” he cried, seizing her hand and gripping it until she winced. “Jim!” she gasped. “I’ve stood all I can.” His tone grew more intense with each word, “I’ve never been too honest with myself about you, Lucy, but I knew I loved you a long time ago. I’ve resented seeing your youth slipping by, and John not noticing it. I’ve tried not to covet his wife, because I thought he wanted her. But now I’ve got to tell you, Lucy. _I_ want you. And I don’t want just a mystical idea of you either. I love you, dear, and you won’t have to be afraid of my ever stopping. Let’s leave the people who don’t want us and take each other. We know we’re good enough for each other. Come on, Lucy. I need you. You are the only person in the world I ever trusted implicitly. You must. I won’t give you up. I can’t give you up. Lucy, Lucy----” She had withdrawn her hand from his and was regarding him now with an expression of wonder. “Why, Jim, what do you mean?” she asked, aghast at his torrent of words. She had never before seen him under stress of uncontrollable excitement. “I mean what I say. Can’t you see how I love you?” Lucy had forgotten the troubles which brought her there and rose from her chair with fear in her eyes. “Stop, Jim,” she commanded. “I’ve trusted you, too, and you have no right to talk this way.” Jim had risen also, and now he came around the desk and stood in front of her, his eyes seeking hers insistently. “Right!” he repeated. “I have the right that my love gives me, a love that never let me think of another woman since I first saw you. You’ve trusted me and you ought to have, because I’m worthy to be trusted. You trusted your husband too, and he allows the first miserable flirt that comes into his house to----” “I’m going, Jim. I can’t listen to such things.” Lucy moved toward the door. “Stop, Lucy,” he pleaded. “Don’t go.” She hesitated. Her manner was hunted. “I’ll talk reasonably,” he promised. He was very pale. His voice was low again. “Sit down, please,” he added as she remained undecided.