Higgins let him in, and across the room Blair saw the figure of the actress against the light of the long window. Her back was to him as he came up, and though she knew who it was, she was far from dreaming how different a man it was that came in to see her this morning from the one she had known. “Won’t you turn around and bid me good-by?” he asked her. “I’m going away.” She gave him a languid hand without looking at him. “Has Higgins gone?” “Yes. Won’t you turn round and say how-de-do, and good-by? Gosh,” he cried as she turned, “how pale you are, darling.” And he took her in his arms. The vision he had had of her in her coral-colored dress at Maxim’s gave place to the more radiant one which had shone on him in his curious dream. “Are you very ill?” he murmured. “Speak to me—tell me—are you going to die?” “Don’t be a goose, boy.” “I’ve had a wire from Ruggles,” Dan said; “he tells me it’s true. I have nothing but my own feet to stand on, and I’m as poor as Job’s turkey.” Looking at her impressively, he added, “I only mind because it will be hard on you.” “Hard on me?” “Yes, you’ll have to start poor. Mother did with father, out there in Montana. It will be rough at first, but others have done it and been happy, and we’ve got each other.” The eyes fixed on her were as blue as the summer skies. “Money’s a darned poor thing to buy happiness with, Letty. It didn’t buy me a thing fit to keep, that’s the truth. I’ve never been so gay since I was born as I am to-day. Why, I feel,” he said, and would have stretched out his arms, only he held her with them, “like a king. Later I’ll have money again, all right—don’t fret—and then I’ll know its worth. I’ll bet you weren’t all unhappy there in Blairtown before you turned the heads of all those Johnnies.” He put one hand against her cheek and lifted her drooping head. “Lean on me, sweetheart,” he said with great tenderness. “It will be all right.” A coral color stole along her cheek: it rose like a sweet tide under his hand. She looked at him, fascinated. “It’s not a real tragedy,” he went on. “I’ve got my letter of credit, and old Ruggles will let me hang on to that, and you’ll find the motor cars and jewels will look like thirty cents when we stand in the door of our little shack and look out at the Value Mine.” He lifted her hand to his lips, held it there, and the spark ignited in her; his youth and confidence, his force and passion, woke a woman in Letty Lane that had never lived before that hour. He murmured: “I’ll be there with you, darling—night and day—night and day!” He brought his bright face close to hers. She found breath to say, “What has happened to you, Dan—what?” “I don’t know,” he gravely replied. “I guess I came up pretty close against it last night; things got into their right places, and then and there I knew you were the girl for me, and I the man for you, rich or poor.”