Bob hied him factoryward and toiled mightily that day. It was work—work—though to what end? If he only knew! He had tried to tell himself that he was learning to forget, that he was becoming reconciled to the inevitable, but that quick glimpse he had caught of her from a distance, before he drifted by with the others, had set his pulses tingling. For a moment now Bob gave way to dreaming; the day was almost done. He sat with his head on his hand and his elbow on the desk. He had shown he was more than a dancing man. He would now have to fight an even harder battle. He would have to take her out of his heart and mind. But he couldn’t do that. It was impossible, when his whole nature clamored for her. He yielded now to the dubious luxury of thinking of her. He hoped he wouldn’t see her again and then gradually he would win in that fight against nature—or do his best to. Yes; he must do his best; he must, he repeated to himself, closing a firm hand resolutely. Then he started and stared—at a vision standing before him. “Why did you cut me to-day?” CHAPTER XXIV—AT THE PORTALS It was some time before Bob recovered sufficiently to answer. Fortunately they were alone in Bob’s private office. From below came the sound of hammers, but that and the dingy surroundings did not seem to disconcert her. She looked at Bob coldly, the violet eyes full of directness. “I—well, I feared you would cut me,” stammered Bob. “Won’t—won’t you sit down?” “No, thank you. At least, not yet. I,” accusingly, “am not accustomed to being cut, and if any of my friends cut me, I want to know why. That’s why I am here.” She was her father’s daughter at that moment—straight, forceful. “But,” said Bob eagerly, looking once more the way he used to, before he had got into this sobering business of manufacturer, “that’s just the point. You see I felt I had somehow forfeited my right to be one of your friends. I felt out of the pale.” “Do you think you deserve to forfeit the right?” “I—perhaps. I don’t know. I’m very confused about all that happened at your aunt’s place.” Was that the shadow of a smile on the proud lips? Bob wasn’t looking at her. He dared not. He was talking to a drawing of his device. “Perhaps you have heard of that confounded wager,” he went on. “I told you why I—I didn’t want to see you. At least, I think I did.” “I have a vague impression of something of the kind,” said the girl. “And there you are,” observed Bob helplessly. “It was an awful muddle, all right. You certainly punished me some, though. Honestly, if I offended you, you did get back good and hard.” “Did I?” said she tentatively. “Is that a drawing of it on the wall?” She was looking at the device. “Yes. That’s what I make.” “Won’t you show me around?”