“The human mind,” he muttered, “can scarcely grasp the meaning of such a sum. And for one man to possess it all makes me suspect that something is out of kelter with our system of doing things. Here I am broke, and with the prospect of a succession of dinnerless days before me; and then here is another fellow with tons of money and no one to give it to. If I had the running of things I’d take down the bars on some of the fat pasture-land and let the lean cattle do a little private grazing.” Upon the opposite side of Broadway a hansom was drawn up at the curb. Kenyon’s eyes rested absently upon the veiled woman who sat within it. He saw her speak a few hasty words to the driver; then he noted the man’s quick glance in his direction, and the smart swish of the long whip over the roof of the vehicle. The hansom rattled across the street and drew up beside him; the woman leaned forward. “I was beginning to think that you had failed us,” she said. A whimsical look came into Kenyon’s eyes; then he smiled good-naturedly. “I beg your pardon,” he began; but she interrupted him. “It is quite unnecessary,” she said. He noted that the tone and the gesture that accompanied the words were rather cold and imperious. “I suppose,” she continued, “that you did not know that he was ill; but, even so, you should not have delayed. However, it is not yet too late. The physicians have assured us that he will live until morning--that he may even get well.” The whimsical look left Kenyon’s eyes and with it went the smile. “Has there not been a mistake?” he asked, gravely. But she gestured impatiently. “The physicians are the best in New York.” Notwithstanding the coldness of the tone, there was a certain sweetness in the voice that attracted Kenyon; that she was a woman of gentle breeding was very evident. And then she was young! Regretfully, he was about to inform her that he was not the person she thought him to be--that he was a stranger in New York--that he did not know a soul among its four millions. But she stopped him once more. “The others are already there.” She made room for him beside her, as she spoke. “Will you get in? The matter must be adjusted quickly if at all.” He noticed a quick flash of something like indignation in this last sentence, and smiled. She caught this and instantly her head went up like that of an offended queen. “I will take this occasion to say,” she said, freezingly, “that I have considered his safety, alone, from the beginning. My own feelings do not enter into the matter.” “I ask your pardon, again,” began the young man. “But the fact is--” The small white hand went up once more and waved back the words. “I repeat,” she said, “that you are still in time. However, it would have been much better if you had come earlier. The ship reached port some seven or eight hours ago; and there could have been nothing to detain you.” Kenyon bent his brows, and looked puzzled. “What ship do you refer to?” he asked.