Tears, however embarrassing, have a way of breaking down barriers and Bruce impulsively took in his the other hand that lay in her lap. "What is it, Miss Dunbar? Won't you tell me? If you only knew how proud and happy I should be to have you talk to me frankly. You can't imagine how I've looked forward to being allowed to do something for you. It means everything to me--far more than to you." Bruce remembered having seen his mother cry, through homesickness and loneliness, softly, uncomplainingly, as she went about her work in the ugly frame house back there on the bleak prairie. And he remembered the roars of rage in which Peroxide Louise had voiced her jealousy. But he had seen few women cry, and now he was so sorry for her that it hurt him--he felt as though someone had laid a hand upon his heart and squeezed it. "It's relief, I suppose," she said brokenly. "It's disgusting that money should be so important." "And do you need it so badly?" Bruce asked gravely. "I need it if I am to go on living." And she told him of the doctor's warning. "You must go away at once." Brace's voice was sharp with anxiety. "I wish you could come West," he added wistfully. "I'd love it, but it is out of the question; it's too far--too expensive." Bruce's black eyebrows came together. His poverty had never seemed so galling, so humiliating. "I must go." She got up quickly. "I'm late. Do my eyes look very badly?" "They're all right." He turned abruptly for his hat. He knew that if he looked an instant longer he should kiss her! What was the matter with him anyhow? he asked himself for the second time. Was he getting maudlin? Not content with talking a strange girl to death he would put on the finishing touch by kissing her. It was high time he was getting back to the mountains! He walked with her to the office, wishing with all his heart that the blocks were each a mile long, and in his fear lest he miss a single word she had to say he pushed divers pedestrians out of his way with so little ceremony that only his size saved him from unpleasant consequences. It was incredible and absurd that he should find it so hard to say good-bye to a girl he had just met, but when they reached the steps it was not until he had exhausted every infantile excuse he could think of for detaining her just an instant longer that he finally said reluctantly: "I suppose you must go, but--" he hesitated; it seemed a tremendous thing to ask of her because it meant so much to him--"I'd like to write to you if you'd answer my letter. Pardners always write to each other, you know." He was smiling, but Helen was almost startled by the wistful earnestness in his eyes. "I'd like to know how it feels," he added, "to draw something in the mail besides a mail-order catalogue--to have something to look forward to." "To be sure--we _are_ partners, aren't we?" "I've had a good many but I never had one I liked better." Bruce replied with such fervor that Helen felt herself coloring.