He consulted his watch. “Just two hours and twenty-seven minutes ago.” “And how long are you going to stay?” “That depends.” “On what?” “For one thing, on whether you treat me well,” he smiled. “Oh, I’ll treat you well. I never was so glad to see a real live somebody in my life. It’s been pretty bad here.” She gave a dreary little smile as she glanced around at the funereal air of the place. “Do you know, I don’t think we think of death in the right way? Or, maybe, I’m a heathen and haven’t the proper feelings.” She had sat down on one of the stiff divans, and Ridgway found a place beside her. “Suppose you tell me about it,” he suggested. “I know I must be wrong, and you’ll be shocked when you hear.” “Very likely.” “I can’t help feeling that the living have rights, too,” she began dubiously. “If they would let me alone I could be sorry in my own way, but I don’t see why I have to make a parade of grief. It seems to—to cheapen one’s feelings, you know.” He nodded. “Just as if you had to measure your friendship for the dead with a yardstick of Mother Grundy. It’s a hideous imposition laid on us by custom, one of Ibsen’s ghosts.” “It’s so good to hear you say that. And do you think I may begin to be happy again?” “I think it would be allowable to start with one smile a day, say, and gradually increase the dose,” he jested. “In the course of a week, if it seems to agree with you, try a laugh.” She made the experiment without waiting the week, amused at his whimsical way of putting it. Nevertheless, the sound of her own laughter gave her a little shock. “You came on business, I suppose?” she said presently. “Yes. I came to raise a million dollars for some improvements I want to make.” “Let me lend it to you,” she proposed eagerly. “That would be a good one. I’m going to use it to fight the Consolidated. Since you are now its chief stockholder you would be letting me have money with which to fight you.” “I shouldn’t care about that. I hope you beat me.” “You’re my enemy now. That’s not the way to talk.” His eyes twinkled merrily. “Am I your enemy? Let’s be friendly enemies, then. And there’s something I want to talk to you about. Before he died Mr. Harley told me he had made you an offer. I didn’t understand the details, but you were to be in charge of all the copper-mines in the country. Wasn’t that it?” “Something of that sort. I declined the proposition.” “I want you to take it now and manage everything for me. I don’t know Mr. Harley’s associates, but I can trust you. You can arrange it any way you like, but I want to feel that you have the responsibility.”