On a certain morning in February, Mrs. Hugh Breckenridge alighted in haste from her limousine in front of a stately apartment house in the best quarter of a great city. She hurried through the entrance hall to the lift and was taken up with smooth speed to the seventh story. In a minute more she was eagerly pressing the button at the door of a familiar suite of rooms into which she had not had occasion to enter for more than a year, for the very good reason that they had been closed and unoccupied in the absence of their tenant. The returned tenant himself opened the door to her, a tall figure looming in the dusk of an unlighted corridor--a tall figure infinitely dear to Sue Breckenridge. "O Don!" cried the visitor in an accusing tone. "How could you come back without letting us know?" "I've been back only an hour," explained Donald Brown, submitting to and warmly returning his sister's embrace. "How in the world did you hear of it so soon? Did Brainard--" She nodded. "Mrs. Brainard called me up at once, of course. She knew you couldn't be serious in trying to keep people from knowing you were here, least of all your sister!" "I was intending to come to you before luncheon; I only meant to surprise you. As for the rest--I should be glad if they needn't know; at least until I'm ready to leave." "To leave! Don! You're not going to persist in going back! It can't be true! You won't give up this apartment--tell me you won't!" His sister's tone was anguished. Before he answered Brown led her into the library of the suite, the room in which he had been occupied when her ring came, and put her into a big arm-chair, taking from her her wrap and furs. Then he sat down upon the edge of a massive mahogany writing-table near by, crossing his long legs and folding his arms, while she mutely waited for him to speak. "Sue," he said--and his face had in it a sort of reflection of the pain in hers--"you may be sure I haven't come to this decision without a deal of thought. But I've made it, and I'm going to stick to it because I believe it's the thing for me to do. I assure you that since I came into these rooms they have been beseeching me, as loudly as inanimate things can not to desert them. I'm going to find it the hardest task of my life to take leave of them." "Don't take leave of them! Lock them up for another year, if you must persist in your experiment, but don't, _don't_ burn your bridges behind you! Oh, how can you think of leaving your splendid church and going off to consign yourself to oblivion, living with poor people the rest of your days? You--_you_--Don!--I can't believe it of you!" His face, in his effort at repression, grew stern. His folded arms became tense in the muscles.