"The company that is to back your father. Capital stock, twenty-five thousand dollars, one half paid up. Your father to be employed as director of the laboratories at five thousand a year, with a fund of ten thousand to draw upon. You to be employed as secretary and treasurer at fifteen hundred a year. I will take the paid-up stock, and your father and you will have the privilege of buying it back at par within five years. Do you follow me?" "I think I understand," was her unexpected reply. Her replies were usually unexpected, like the expressions of her face and figure; she was continually comprehending where one would have said she would not, and not comprehending where it seemed absurd that she should not. "Yes, I understand. . . . What else?" "Nothing else." She looked intently at him, and her eyes seemed to be reading his soul to the bottom. "Nothing else," he repeated. "No obligation--for money--or--for anything?" "No obligation. A hope perhaps." He was smiling with the gayest good humor. "But not the kind of hope that ever becomes a disagreeable demand for payment." She seated herself, her hands in her lap, her eyes down--a lovely picture of pensive repose. He waited patiently, feasting his senses upon her delicate, aromatic loveliness. At last she said: "I accept." He had anticipated an argument. This promptness took him by surprise. He felt called upon to explain, to excuse her acceptance. "I am taking a little flyer--making a gamble," said he. "Your father may turn up nothing of commercial value. Again the company may pay big----" She gave him a long look through half-closed eyes, a queer smile flitting round her lips. "I understand perfectly why you are doing it," she said. "Do you understand why I am accepting?" "Why should you refuse?" rejoined he. "It is a good business prop----" "You know very well why I should refuse. But--" She gave a quiet laugh of experience; it made him feel that she was making a fool of him--"I shall not refuse. I am able to take care of myself. And I want father to have his chance. Of course, I shan't explain to him." She gave him a mischievous glance. "And I don't think _you_ will." He contrived to cover his anger, doubt, chagrin, general feeling of having been outwitted. "No, I shan't tell him," laughed he. "You are making a great fool of me." "Do you want to back out?" What audacity! He hesitated--did not dare. Her indifference to him--her personal, her physical indifference gave her the mastery. His teeth clenched and his passion blazed in his eyes as he said: "No--you witch! I'll see it through." She smiled lightly. "I suppose you'll come to the offices of the company--occasionally?" She drew nearer, stood at the corner of the desk. Into her exquisite eyes came a look of tenderness. "And I shall be glad to see you." "You mean that?" he said, despising himself for his humble eagerness, and hating her even as he loved her.