"Yes," she broke in, tremulously; "he told me all about it, Jarvis, and--and I want to ask you a question. I want you to be frank with me. I don't want the slightest evasion to--to save me from pain. I can't go up home without knowing the full truth. You are so--so kind and thoughtful, always wanting to--to do _me_ some favor and aid _me_ that--Oh, Jarvis, I want to know this: Do you think my father is capable of filling that place as it ought to be filled?" Saunders was sitting on the arm of the seat in front of her. The car was almost empty, no one being near. He bent forward and laid his hand on her arm. "He is the very man I want," he declared. "The work is not difficult; he is so popular with the average run of men that he will make a far better manager than Hobson, or any one else I could get." He heard her catch her breath. He saw a light of joy dawn in her eyes. "If only I could believe that, Jarvis," she said, "I would be the happiest girl in all the world. I would--I would--I would." "Then you may be," he answered, huskily, his emotions all but depriving him of utterance. "He is doing _me_ a favor, Dolly. Of all men he is the first I would select." The bell of the locomotive was ringing. Saunders stood up, now clasping the hand she held out. He felt her timid fingers cling to his. Her blood and his throbbed in unison. Looking into her eyes, he saw that they were full of tears. He remembered how she had kissed his hand on the night he had prevented her father from going to Atlanta, and as he hurried from the slowly moving car he was like a man groping through a maze of doubt and bewildering fears. She could feel and show gratitude, he told himself, but a heart such as hers could never be won twice to actual love. It is said that suffering deepens character, and it was perhaps the fall of her ideal which had made her the heroic marvel she was. Mostyn still loved her in secret; of that Saunders had little doubt, for how could a man once embraced by such a creature ever forget it? And Dolly suspected the man's constancy and had no room for aught but secret responsiveness. But no matter, he would still be her watchful and attentive friend. He had helped her to-day in the midst of her triumph, and he would help her again and again. To serve her unrewarded would have to suffice. CHAPTER X One morning, a week or so later, Mostyn found a note from Marie Winship in his mail. It was brief and to the point. It ran: