“I haven’t considered the subject.” She flashed the answer back again, and laughed, with her cheek glowing on the pillow. Why had Lois spoken of him so strangely? She vainly strove to fathom the significance of the words, which she resented, although they had coincided with an instinctive feeling she had that he was not at all the kind of man she would ever want to marry. She had already taken that provisionary leap into a mythical future which is one of the perfunctory attitudes of maidenhood. But who wanted to think of marrying now, anyway? That was something so far off that it seemed like the end of all things to Dosia, who at present only innocently desired plenty of emotions to live upon—costlier living than she knew, poor child! The very instinct that warned her against it added a heightened charm to the perilous pleasure. And the other man—Mr. Sutton—had already sent her flowers! Oh, this was life, life—the life she had read of and longed for, where dark eyes looked at you and made you feel how interesting you were; where you could have pretty clothes, and look like other people, and be brilliant and witty and sought after. She blushed with pleasure and excitement. Then she said a little prayer, with palm pressed to palm under the covers, and the glamour faded away as a sweet and pure feeling welled up from the clear depths of her heart. Her hand was once more held in safety. In her drowsiness, it was as if she had lifted her soft cheek to be kissed. To the eager inquiries of Lois, Justin answered that he had had his dinner long before and wanted nothing. He asked if she and the children were all right,—his usual question,—and she waited until he had dropped down in the arm-chair in the sitting-room up-stairs, after changing his shoes for slippers, before questioning him. Then she sat down by him and asked: “Well, how was it?” She spoke with eagerness, holding one of his hands in hers tenderly, although it hung limp after the first strong, responsive clasp. “The fire was out before I got there.” “Do they know how it started?” “Not yet.” “Was the place burned much?” “No, not much.” “Did it do any damage to the machinery?” “Some.” Lois looked at him in despair. “Aren’t you going to tell me _anything_?” “There really isn’t anything to tell, dear.” He strove to speak with attention. “You know just about as much of it all as I do.” “Oh, but I’m so sorry for you! Will it put you back any?” “I suppose so.” “Oh, _dear_!” she moaned helplessly. “Isn’t it too bad! If only you had not been obliged to take that journey! Do you suppose it would have happened if you had stayed at home?” “I really can’t tell. The fire might have been discovered earlier; it started at noon, when most of the clerks were out at lunch.” “I see. But no one can hold you responsible.” “I am responsible for everything. If you do not mind, Lois, I’ll go to bed. I’m tired; I didn’t get any sleep last night.”