She stood there, still motionless, until his step sounded on the front walk; then she ran upstairs and knelt by the window that overlooked the yards. She saw him enter the office. A few moments, and the two men who had been with Stenzenberger came out and walked away. A half-hour, and still Joe was in there with the lumber merchant. An hour--and then finally he appeared, glanced back at the saloon, and walked hurriedly around the corner out of sight. And she knew that he had slipped away from her. The photograph was still in her hand, and now she looked at it again, scornfully, bitterly. A man entered the saloon below, and she did not hear him until he fell to whistling a music-hall tune. At something familiar in the sound a peculiar expression came over her face, and she threw the picture on the floor and hurried down. When she entered the sample room, her eyes were reckless. The man was young, with the air of the commercial traveller of the better sort. He was seated at one of the tables, smoking a cigarette. His name was William Beveridge, but he passed here by the name of Bedloe. “Hello, Madge,” he said; “what's the matter--all alone here?” “Yes; Mr. Murphy's down town.” “And McGlory--where's he?” “He's out too.” He looked at her admiringly. Indeed, she was younger and prettier, for the odd expression of her eyes. “Well, I'm in luck.” “Why?” she asked, coming slowly to the opposite side of the table and leaning on the back of a chair. But in gazing at her he neglected to reply. “By Jove, Madge,” he broke out, “do you know you're a beauty?” She flushed and shook her head. Then she slipped down into the chair, and rested her elbows on the table. “You're the hardest person to forget I ever knew.” “I guess you have tried hard enough.” “No--I couldn't get round lately--I've been too busy. Anyhow, what was the use? If I had thought I stood any show of seeing you, I would have come or broken something. But there was always Murphy or McGlory around.” He could not tell her his real object in coming, nor in avoiding the two proprietors, who had watched him with suspicion from the first. “Do you know, this is the first real chance you've ever given me to talk to you?” “How did I know you wanted to?” “Oh, come, Madge, you know better than that. How could anybody help wanting to? But”--he looked around--“are we all right here? Are we likely to be disturbed?” “Why, no, not unless a customer comes in.” “Isn't there another room out back there where we can have a good talk?”