And through the rest of the day, as clients came and went, he saw something new. He saw cases differently. Men were accustomed to come to him because he was a “safe” man.... Well, he was not quite safe to-day--But he knew underneath, as he worked, that his advice had never been so worth while. IX HE had left the office early and had caught a car that was passing the corner as he came out. As soon as he entered he knew that Rosalind was in the car, three seats ahead. He gave a little start, a quick flash--he did not want to catch Rosalind off guard--Then he smiled; it was not Rosalind of the alcove--it was the plain, every-day Rosalind, her lap heaped with bundles, and bundles on the seat beside her. Rosalind’s flannels, he thought, probably. He moved down the aisle and stood beside the seat, lifting his hat and looking down at her. “Why, Eldridge!” She looked up with the little peering smile and made a place for him among the bundles, trying to gather them up into her lap. But he swept them away. “I’ll take these,” he said. The little distressed look came between her eyes. Eldridge couldn’t bear bundles. “I thought I wouldn’t wait to have them sent,” she apologized. “It’s so cold--and they need them--right off.” “Yes--” He looked at her jacket; it was thin, with the shabby lining showing at the edge. “Did you get yourself a warm wrap?” he asked. She was looking out of the window, and the line of her cheek flushed swiftly. “No--I--” “I want you to do it--at once.” She glanced at him--a little questioning look in her face. “I--have--seen something I like--” she said. “Get it to-morrow. I will order it for you when I go in.” Her hands made a gesture above the bundles. “Please don’t, Eldridge. I would rather--do it--myself.” “Very well. But remember to get it.” “Yes--I will get it.” She sighed softly. Deceitful Rosalind! If he had not seen for himself the box in the attic with its overflowing soft colors and the grey fur, he would not have believed the deceit of her face.... Not that he was blaming anybody. He was not blaming Rosalind. The picture of Mr. Eldridge Walcott remained with him.... He was not likely to forget how Mr. Eldridge Walcott had looked to him--in the flash of light. Perhaps he looked like that to Rosalind--to both Rosalinds! He turned a little in the seat and glanced down at her--Yes, they were both there--the plain little figure in its shabby jacket and the reticent, beautiful woman of the alcove. The fingers in cheap gloves were fussing at a parcel. “I got fleece-lined shirts for Tommie--his skin is so sensitive--I thought I would try fleece-lined ones for him.” Damn fleece-lined ones! Would she never talk to him except of undershirts--and coal-hods? He took the paper from his pocket and glanced casually at it. “Has coal gone up?” she asked. “They said it would go up--if it stayed cold.” The anxious, lines were in her face.