An hour after Mr. Wright had concluded his purchase for his employer he returned to the establishment, accompanied by one of the persons authorized to collect the money. When he presented the order at the cashier's window, Mr. Conway, the old cashier, drew back aghast as he looked at the man. "Is--is it possible you have indorsed this?" he asked, turning to the manager. Mr. Wright bowed, but his face betrayed deep agitation. "I cannot pay it without consulting Mr. Armstrong," he exclaimed, in a troubled voice. "Wait a moment." Could it be possible that Lester Armstrong had authorized the payment of an amount like that, knowing that the firm was a little crippled for cash just at that season of the year? Surely the man must be mad, he told himself; and that for which the money was to be paid fairly staggered him. He had to look a second time to satisfy himself that he had not made a horrible mistake when he read: "For one steam yacht and two pairs of horses, $125,000; terms cash." He set his lips hard together, saying to himself that this was the beginning of the end. At that same moment quite a thrilling scene was taking place in the private office, which would have unnerved the old cashier completely had he known of it. It so happened, in exploring the nooks of the office, Kendale had by chance touched another bell, the bell communicating with the suit department, which was in charge of Mr. Conway's pretty daughter, Miss Margery. When that bell tapped it meant that the young lady was to make all possible haste to the private office, to which she had been summoned, and this the young girl proceeded to do, not without some little trepidation, however. Fair Margery Conway had a secret romance in her life, a romance which no one in the wide world would ever have guessed. For many a long day she had been secretly in love with Mr. Lester Armstrong, her father's assistant, of whom; she had heard him speak so much and praise so highly. She admired him immensely. Many a time she made excuses to speak with her father a moment in their private office. No one in the wide world guessed that grave, handsome Lester Armstrong was the attraction that brought her there. She had many a casual chat with him, and somehow the hope grew in her heart that he was not altogether indifferent to her. Once, when she had started home in the pouring rain, he had gone out of his way to see her safely to her destination under the shelter of his umbrella. He had only been courteous, but she had built up many a hope from this little incident alone. She had not seen very much of Lester Armstrong since that never-to-be-forgotten day, but her father had told her that he usually asked each morning: "How is your daughter, Miss Margery?" and once her father had said: