Coming in out of the bright sunlight, Bromley had been half blind in the cool, darkened room. But now that his eyes were becoming accustomed to the gloom he saw that his lovely questioner had stopped in curious embarrassment. Her eyes were downcast and she was folding and refolding the filmy handkerchief in her lap. Suddenly she left her chair and came to sit beside him on the old-fashioned, rep-covered sofa. “Harry, dear,” she began, “I have something terrible to confess; but first let me ask you.... Last night, you know, when I saw you with Miss Dabney, and saw how pretty and sweet she is ... Harry, aren’t you the least bit in love with her?” He tried to turn the question aside with a laugh. “You wouldn’t ask that if you could see her sister next younger. Mysie is the raving beauty of the family.” “No, but, really, Harry; I’m dreadfully in earnest. Wouldn’t you marry Jean Dabney if you were--if you were free?” Again he evaded, rather clumsily--for him--this time. “It wouldn’t rest with me, Eugie. Jean hasn’t the remotest idea of marrying anybody.” The beauty beside him, statuesque no longer, but almost girlish in her confusion, sighed deeply. “You are making it terribly hard for me, Harry, but I suppose I deserve every bit of it. I--I’ve been untrue to you and to our--to our engagement.” It took every atom of his self-control to keep him from bounding to his feet. “Wha--what’s that?” he gasped. “It’s your fault, in a way,” she pleaded defensively. “We might never have known anything about Mr. Drew if you hadn’t told him we were here in Denver.” “Stephen Drew!” He almost shouted the name. “Yes. He asked me last night, you know--after we came home from the theater. I tried to stop him; I knew I ought to; but--but he wouldn’t stop.” He turned and put his hands on her shoulders. “Tell me just one thing, Eugie: do you love Steve Drew? Is that it?” She lifted swimming eyes to his for a flitting instant and then dropped them quickly. “You can say anything you please to me, Harry, dear; I know I deserve it: but--but I love him so hard that it hurts--actually _hurts_!” “God bless you, Eugie, dear,” he broke out, taking her in his arms and kissing the tears away. “Don’t you cry for a single minute. Your happiness is all I care for--all I’ve ever cared for. And you have picked a man in all his inches. Don’t you fret the least little bit about a thing that was handed out to us, wrapped up in the original package years and years ago, by the old folks!” “You--you’re not sorry--not even a little?” she faltered. “How could I be sorry when you have found your true happiness, my dear? That is the biggest thing in the world. And Steve will make you happy. He is one of the finest!--head and shoulders above any other man I’ve met in Colorado. I wouldn’t give you up to a rotter: but to Stephen Drew.... But see here, I’ve got an appointment at the bank, and it’s nearly closing time, right now. Will you forgive me if I run?”