"Yes; the past was a little that way," he echoed again. For perhaps half a minute Armstrong smoked in reminiscent gravity; swiftly as the shadow had intruded it passed. "Let's forget it," he proposed, "forget it absolutely and never speak of it again. By the way, do you own this place now?" "No; Roberts still holds it. I made him an offer before he went away last Summer, but he wouldn't even consider it then. I'll try again when he returns. Margery wants it badly." "When he returns? Is he coming back soon?" "I judge so, although I've had no word. There were a number of letters and telegrams came for him yesterday, and a batch of them to-day. I suspect that he intended being here to-night and is delayed for some reason." Randall removed his glasses and polished them with unnecessary diligence. "I wired him when I heard what he'd done for me, but I haven't had any answer yet. I'd have given anything to have had him here to-night. It was the one thing lacking." For a moment there was silence. "He has done a lot for you, Harry, that's a fact," commented Armstrong, judicially. "Your new place at six thousand dollars a year is a pretty good thing even for these days." "A lot? Everything! He pulled me out of hell and gave me a chance when I'd never have made one myself. I owe him everything; and I've never been able to do him one blessed service in return." Armstrong squirmed uncomfortably. The usually reticent Harry Randall like this was a novelty. "For that matter, he's done a lot for both of us," admitted Armstrong, perfunctorily. "I appreciate it too, thoroughly." Randall looked up swiftly; in remembrance equally swift he turned away. "Yes; he's done miracles for both of us, more than we can possibly realize," he said softly. "More--" "Harry," interrupted Margery Randall's voice from the stairway, "I'm sorry to hasten you men, but Elice thinks she must go. Her father isn't well, you know, and is at home alone." * * * * * "I'll wait, Elice. It's early yet. See how your father is and come down when you can." Armstrong looked at her meaningly, with all but an appeal. "This is my night, you know. You really can't refuse to let me see you to-night." The girl busied herself with the lights and the gas in the grate. "I know, Steve; but really I'd rather not see any one longer to-night." She took off her coat almost hurriedly. "It's a busy time for me now before the holidays; and with father as he is--That's why I came away so early, you know. Not to-night, please, Steve." Armstrong silently paced the length of the little library, pitifully bare in comparison with the home they had just left. He halted. "Do you realize that you've invariably prevented, by one excuse or another, my talking with you alone in months now?" he asked abruptly. "Don't you mean ever to give me a chance again? You know what it is I wish to speak about, Elice." The girl was standing--quite still now.