He stepped inside without a word, laying his hat on the hall table. Forbiddingly silent, she gazed an instant into his face, glacial blue eyes searching his own hungry ones, her face so cold as to cause him an inward shiver. Then without speaking, she entered the little parlor, he following. They sat far apart. Her manner increased the gap immeasurably. Micky felt dimly that speech would partake of the nature of transmission over a long-distance telephone to the Klondike. However, he cleared his throat with some diffidence. It was something of an odd sensation for him. "You were playin'," he ventured. "Yes," somewhat pointedly. "I was." "Well," he continued, "don't let me interrupt you. I like music." "Oh, do you?" indifferently. "Sorry, but the pieces I was playin' are new ones. I don't know 'em well enough to play 'em before company." "So?" he continued, calmly ignoring the reiterated hint. "Well, try some of the old ones. They're good enough for me." He watched her face eagerly. It did not relax. "I think I've forgotten the old ones, Mr. O'Byrn," she said slowly. "But I haven't," somewhat wistfully. "And it was not so long ago." "Not so long ago!" her blue eyes brightening. "Mr. O'Byrn, it was longer ago than you seem to think." "Yes, I guess it was," dejectedly. "It's a long way from 'Micky' to 'Mister' after all." The girl's lip curled. "It's your own fault." she retorted. Then with a sudden burst of hurt resentment, "I couldn't believe it at first," with an involuntary little shiver, "when I saw you that night. My brother was pretty mad, I can tell you, said I ought to shake you. Such a sight!" "So your brother was with you," exclaimed Micky, half to himself. One maddening surmise had been set at rest. The thought of Ryan had haunted him of late. "Yes, who did you think it was? Couldn't you see him?" with sarcasm. "I'm afraid I couldn't," with a humility strange in him, "but I could see you, Maisie, and it sobered me." "High time!" she flashed. "But then," with an impatient gesture, "It ain't pleasant to talk about, so cut it out. What did you come here for, anyway?" He straightened. "To apologize, Maisie, that's all," he said simply. "Just that and to ask for another chance. I sha'n't whine or excuse myself. Only this. They gave me another chance at the office. Do I get one here?" She tapped the carpet with an impatient foot. Her eyes were downcast, her cheeks flushed. Micky watched her wistfully. Suddenly she stole a swift glance at him, her blue eyes brimming with tears. "Oh," she burst out, a pitiful break in her voice, "if I hadn't seen you--that way. It nearly killed me. And every time I've thought of you since--I've seen you--like that! Oh, Micky--" Her voice was lost in sobs, stifled in her handkerchief. He sprang from his chair, kneeling at her side, stroking her hair with trembling fingers, pouring out his soul in broken, incoherent words.