She waited, breathless, in a quiver. The silence sang upon the wire, the silence of the night through which he was groping toward her.... "Hello! Is this Nine-o--" "Yes, yes!" "Is this the residence of Alexander C. Graeme?" "Yes." The syllable almost choked her. "Is this Miss Graeme at the 'phone?" "It is." "Miss Sylvia Graeme?" "Yes." "This is Daniel Maitland ... Sylvia!" "As if I did not know your voice!" she cried involuntarily. There followed a little pause; and in her throat the pulses tightened and drummed. "I have opened the bag, Sylvia...." "Please go on." "And I've sounded the depths of your hideous infamy!" "Oh!" He was laughing. "I've done more. I've made a burnt offering, within the last five minutes. Can you guess what it is?" "I--I--don't want to guess! I want to be told." "A burnt offering on the altar of your happiness, dear. The papers in the case of the Dougherty Investment Company no longer exist." "Dan!" "Sylvia.... Does it please you?" "Don't you _know_?... How can it do anything but please me? If you knew how I have suffered because my father suffered, fearing the.... No, but you must listen! Dan, it was wearing him down to his grave, and I thought--" "You thought that if you could get the papers and give them to him--" "Yes. I could see no harm, because he was as innocent as you--" "Of course. But why didn't you ask me?" "_He_ did, and you refused." "But how could I tell, Sylvia, that you were his daughter, and that I should--" "Hush! Central will hear!" "Central's got other things to do, besides listening to early morning confabulations. I love you." "Dan...." "Yes?" "I love--to hear you say so, dear." "Please say that last word over again. I didn't get it." "Dear...." "And that means that you'll marry me?" A pause. "I say, that means--" "I heard you, Dan." "But it does, doesn't it?" "Yes." "When?" "Whenever you please." "I'll come up now." "Don't be a silly." "Well, when then? To-day?" "Yes--_no_!" "But when?" "To-morrow--I mean next week--I mean next month." "No; to-day at four. I'll call for you." "But, Dan...." "Sweetheart!" "But you mustn't!... How can I--" "Easily enough. There's the Little-Church-Around-the-Corner--" "But I've nothing to wear!" "Oh!" Another pause. "Dan.... You don't wish it--truly?" "I do wish it, truly. To-day, at four. The Church of the Transfiguration. Yes, I'll scare up a best man if you'll find bridesmaids. Now you will, won't you?" "I--if you wish it, dear." "I'll have to ask you to repeat that." "I shan't. There!" "Very well," meekly. "But will you tell me one thing, please?" "What is it?" "Where on earth did you get hold of that kit of tools?" She laughed softly. "My big Brother caught a burglar once, and kept the kit for a remembrance. I borrowed them." "Give me your big brother's address and I'll send 'em back with my thanks--No, by George! I won't, either. I've as much right to keep 'em as he has on _that_ principle."