Bitter as my misery was after Mr. Blodgett’s revelation, there was still some sweetness to make it bearable. For years I had thought of you as heartless and forgetful, and even in my love had hated and despised you at moments, as only love can hate and despise. The world thinks that animosity is always strongest against enemies, though daily it sees the intensest feuds between those nations and individuals who are most closely related, and never learns that the deepest hatred comes from love. Now I knew that you had cause for slighting my letters and gift, and the knowledge of my injustice and the thought that you were more lovable than ever were the silver lining to my cloud of shame. My first meeting with you was a pure chance, yet it shaped my life. For three weeks after my call on Mr. Blodgett I pondered and vacillated over what I should do, without reaching any decision. At the end of that time I went to his office again. “Mr. Blodgett has asked two or three times if you hadn’t called,” the boy informed me; adding, as he opened the door to the private office, “He told me, if you ever came again, sir, to show you right in.” I passed through the doorway, and then faltered, for you were sitting beside the banker, overlooking a paper that he was commenting upon. Could I have escaped unnoticed, I should have done so; but you both glanced up as I entered. The moment you saw me you rose, with an exclamation of recognition and surprise, which meant to me that you knew your old friend in spite of the changes. Do you wonder that, not foreseeing what was to come, I stood there as if turned to stone? My manner evidently made you question your own eyes, for you asked, “Is not this Dr. Hartzmann?” “Of course it is!” cried Mr. Blodgett, with a quickness and heartiness which proved that your question was almost as great a relief to him as it was to me. “I did not think, Miss Walton,” I replied, steadying my voice as best I could, “that you saw my face clearly enough that evening, to recollect it?” “The moonlight was so strong,” you explained, “that I should have known you anywhere.” “Then your eyes are better than mine,” asserted Mr. Blodgett. “I accused the doctor of using blondine, to atone for my not recognizing him, though I must confess he will have to use a good deal more if he wants to be thought anything but Italian.” “Then you have met before?” you questioned. “Yes,” replied Mr. Blodgett. “I was going to tell you when we got through with that mortgage. I knew you would be interested to hear that the doctor was in New York. Seems like Tangier, doesn’t it?” “In reminiscence,” I assented, merely to gain time. “None of your rickety ruins,” chuckled Mr. Blodgett. “But more ruin,” you said. “And more danger,” I added, pointing out of the window at the passers-by in Wall Street. “Nowhere in my travels, even among races that have to go armed, have I ever seen so many anxious and careworn faces.”