persistent effort to make the most of the present, that in the very renunciation of the dogma he had discovered the highest law of life. “Well, you are off, I see,” the General said, “and I hope the parties will not only be there, but with their check-books wide open.” “Yes, I'll see what can be done,” Galt answered, somewhat coldly, for it was against his policy to speak of business matters in any social group. “I happened to have the land deed you wanted in my pocket, General, and I thought I'd stop and hand it to you.” “Oh yes, thank you,” Sylvester said. “I knew it was all right, but I want to keep all my papers which you don't have need for in my safe.” “And how is Miss Margaret?” Galt now asked, as he turned the document over to its owner, and bent toward the wistful face of the young girl. “Oh, I'm quite well, thank you,” she responded, forcing a smile. “You are a fortunate man, Mr. Galt. My uncle doesn't praise many people, but he can't say enough in your favor.” “That's because he only knows the _business_ side of me,” Galt said, ceasing to smile, and drawing himself up. “Well, I must be off. I see John lashing the air with his whip; he is my time-table.” “Yes, you'd better not lose your train,” the General put in. “I don't want to be the cause of your missing that appointment. Get a rosebud for his buttonhole, Madge. It may bring us good luck.” “Yes, I will.” The girl rose languidly. “There are some pretty ones near the gate.” Galt gallantly assisted her down the steps, and, side by side, they moved along the wide brick walk. Dearing heard his uncle chuckling as the old man peered through the twilight at the couple, who now stood facing each other over a bush of choice roses. “Mark my words, my boy,” he said, “we may have to wait awhile for it, but as sure as you and I are alive, that pair will some day be more closely related to each other than they are now.” Dearing shrugged his shoulders and remained silent. “You don't think so?” the General pursued, with the eagerness of a child who has discovered a new toy. “They can't help it. He is much older than she is, but it would be an ideal match. The fellow is actually a great man. There is no curbing his ambition. He has accomplished wonders so far, and there is no telling what his particular genius will ripen into.” “It may be as you say--_in time_,” Dearing answered, after a pause; “but I'm afraid it will be years before Madge forgets Fred Walton, and if he should take a notion to come back, as such fellows always do, sooner or later, why, we'd only have our trouble over again.” “But he told you he was going, never to come back?” the old man said, with a touch of resentment even at the thought. “Yes; he said positively that his conduct, whatever it was, would keep him from ever showing his face in Stafford again.”