"Yes?" he cried anxiously. "Where is he? I tried to get here in time. Did he--" "Sit down, David--here, please, behind the balustrade. I am waiting out here for him. He went off in that direction. I've been watching for nearly an hour. He is coming back." She resumed her chair, facing the direction which Braddock had taken. "You--you sent him away?" "I did not see him. You must not think, David, that I am afraid to see him. I am nervous, upset, but it really isn't fear. Christine--Christine knows everything. I told her last night. She is--well, you can imagine, she is very unhappy. Everything looks black to her. I did not hide anything. She is crushed." "Where is she? I must see her. I can comfort her, Mrs. Braddock. Let me see her before he comes back." He was standing over her, his face working. "She will not see you, David," she said in dull tones. He started. "What do you mean? She _must_ see me." "Her father was in the penitentiary." That was all; but it told all there was to tell. It required a moment or two for comprehension. Then he cried out reproachfully: "Does she think that will make any difference in my--" She held up her hand. "She knows it won't. That's what distresses her. I am afraid, David, after all, you have brought your honor to a wretched market. We are what we are, we Braddocks. We can't look beyond our environment. You cannot marry a convict's daughter. It was bad enough before. I should have seen all this. But I was blind only to her happiness. We can't--" His jaws were set. "Mrs. Braddock," he said, his voice quivering with decision, "I am not going to be put off like this. You may as well understand that, first and last. I love her. I want her. She loves me, thank God. It won't be so hard to make her understand how impossible it is for anything to come between us. She is going to marry me, Mary Braddock." A great light leaped into her eyes, even as she shook her head. The words of protest she would have uttered failed to pass her lips. She reached out as if to clasp his hand, a movement as involuntary as it was instinctive. He had turned and was facing the closed portals behind which his heart's desire was beating all joy and hope out of her poor tormented soul. The tears rushed to his eyes. "I can't stand it," he cried. "She must hear the words _now_--this is the time for me to go to her and say that I love her better than all the world. Nothing else matters." In his eagerness he was starting for the door when a sharp cry fell from her lips. He hesitated, struck by the note of consternation in the cry. A carriage had drawn up at the curb in front of the house. A face appeared at the open window of the vehicle, a never-to-be-forgotten face that brought to mind the African gazelle in Van Slye's.