"No," she answered. "It's some woman you've placed there--some woman who might have been there--that you see. But she isn't there, because--because I can't go with you." Some woman he had put there. He looked at the stars, and the little star by the Big Dipper was shining steadily at him. He passed his hand over his forehead. "If she were really in me, she'd go with you to-morrow," Frances ran on excitedly. "She'd want to get into the game. She'd want to be hungry with you, and she wouldn't care about anything else in the world but you. She--she'd want to suffer, Don. She'd be almost glad that you had no money. Her father wouldn't count, because she'd care so much." She drew her cape about her shoulders. "Yes," he answered in a hoarse whisper; "she's like that." "So, don't you see--" "Good Lord, I do see!" he exclaimed. Now he saw. With his head swimming, with his breath coming short, he saw. But he was as dazed as a man suddenly given sight in the glare of the blazing sun. Frances was frightened by his silence. "I--I think we'd better go back now," she said gently. He escorted her to the house without quite knowing how he found the way. At the door she said:-- "Don't you understand, Don?" "Yes," he answered; "for the first time." "And you'll not think too badly of me?" "It isn't anything you can help," he answered. "It isn't anything I can help, either." "Don't think too badly of Dad," she pleaded. "He'll cool down soon, and then--you must come and see me again." She held out her hand, and he took it. Then swiftly she turned and went into the house. He hurried back to the path--to the path where on Saturday afternoons he had walked with Sally Winthrop. CHAPTER XXVIII SEEING He saw now. Blind fool that he had been, month after month! He sank on a bench and went back in his thoughts to the first time he had ever seen Sally Winthrop. She had reminded him that it was luncheon time, and when he had gone out she had been waiting for him. She must have been waiting for him, or he never would have found her. And she had known he was hungry. "She'd want to be hungry with you," Frances had said. How had Sally Winthrop known that he was hungry? She had known, and had shared with him what she had. Then incident after incident in the office came back to him. It was she who had taught him how to work. It was for her that he had worked. Frances had used another phrase: "She'd be almost glad you had no money." There was only one woman in the world he knew who would care for a man like that--if she cared at all. That brought him to his feet again. He glared about as if searching for her in the dark. Why wasn't she here now, so that he might ask her if she did care? She had no business to go off and leave him like this! He did not know where she was.