Virginia accepted this as she always did the inevitable, with much composure and few words. It was useless to think that Marian could ever be anything to her—perhaps it was her own fault, and she was ready enough to admit that it might be; but there was no affection between them, and she felt that none was possible; and she was more sorry for Stephen than she had ever been for herself, for she knew he must suffer a bitter disappointment. Tom Benson's gun had its trial, and he came home from Washington where he had received the report of the experts who had conducted the tests, one cold February morning, an aged and broken man. It was scarce day when he arrived in town, but instead of going home he went straight to the office, where he let himself in with the key he always carried; and when Jim Williams the bookkeeper, presented himself there shortly after seven o'clock, he found him still with his hat and overcoat on, and seated before his desk with his hands buried deep in his trousers' pockets, and seemingly quite unmindful of the bitter cold in the fireless room. He had been there for an hour or more but had hardly moved; first in absolute darkness, then the thin grey light had stolen in through the frosted windows, and the sun's faint rays as the day broke. But he had not noticed the change, and it was only when he heard Williams fumbling with numb fingers to fit his key to the lock that he stirred, gruffly calling to him to enter. “When did you get back?” demanded Jim in frank surprise. “This morning,” said Benson shortly. “Train must have been late,” ventured Jim. “Four hours.” “Snow?” “Yes.” He had removed his hat and outer coat, and was hanging them up on their peg back of the door by his desk. “Stir round, will you!” said Benson. “And see if you can get a fire started—it's as cold as hell here!” He had never been an especially agreeable man in his relation with his subordinates; and the bookkeeper after building a fire in the office stove went back into the shops, and informed Shanley the foreman that “The old man was hipped over something, and that he was a mighty good proposition to let alone.” “Then I'm just the lad to leave him be, if that's so,” said the foreman jocosely. And Shanley profiting by the hint kept out of the office. Jim's duties, however, did not admit of his taking a similar precaution; but he found that Tom Benson took no notice of him. He sat idly before his desk all the morning and if he noticed anything it was the skirmish line of the heat on the frosted window panes in front of him, which as the day advanced, retreated from the centre of the panes until a circle had been cleared in each, through which one might look.