Jack was still silent. The thought of seeing Edith created a tumult in his mind. It seemed as if he were not quite ready, not exactly settled. He had been procrastinating so long, putting off going, on one pretext or another, that he had fallen into a sort of fear of going. At first, absorbed in his speculations, enthralled by the company of Carmen and the luxurious, easy-going view of life that her society created for him; he had felt Edith and his house as an irritating restraint. Later, when the smash came, he had been still more relieved that she was out of town. And finally he had fallen into a reckless apathy, and had made himself believe that he never would see her again until some stroke of fortune should set him on his feet and restore his self-respect. But since he had been with Fletcher & Co. his feelings had gradually undergone a change. With a regular occupation and regular hours, and in contact with the sensible mind and business routine of Mr. Fletcher, he began to have saner views of life, and to realize that Edith would approve what he was now attempting to do much more than any effort to relieve himself by speculation. As soon as he felt himself a little more firmly established, a little more sure of himself, he would go to Edith, and confess everything, and begin life anew. This had been his mood, but he was still irresolute, and it needed some outside suggestion to push him forward to overcome his lingering reluctance to go home. But this had come suddenly. It seemed to him at first thought that he needed time to prepare for it. Mr. Fletcher pulled out his watch. “There is a later train at four. Take that, and we will get some lunch first.” An hour of postponement was such a relief! Why, of course he could go at four. And instantly his heart leaped up with desire. “All right,” he said, as he rose and closed his desk. “But I think I'd better not stay for lunch. I want to get something for the boy on my way uptown.” “Very good. Tuesday, then. My best regards to Edith.” As Jack came down the stairway from the elevated road at Twenty-third Street he ran against a man who was hurrying up--a man in a pronounced traveling-suit, grip-sack and umbrella in hand, and in haste. It was Mavick. Recognition was instantaneous, and it was impossible for either to avoid the meeting if he had desired to do so. “You in town!” said Mavick. “And you!” Jack retorted. “No, not really. I'm just going to catch the steamer. Short leave. We have all been kept by that confounded Chile business.” “Going for the government?” “No, not publicly. Of course shall confer with our minister in London. Any news here?” “Yes; Henderson's dead.” And Jack looked Mavick squarely in the face. “Ah!” And Mavick smiled faintly, and then said, gravely: “It was an awful business. So sudden, you know, that I couldn't do anything.” He made a movement to pass on. “I suppose there has been no--no--”