"You may remember my telling you once that I was--was sorry to write the factory articles you just mentioned. The truth is I've hated to write them--especially as to--as to the Works.... It's just the sort of thing I've wanted for a long time to write, too. I had the argument thought out down to the bone. Oh, they're good.... I--I was going to send the first lot to the 'Chronicle' this week.... And yet--well, it's been pulling against the grain somehow, every line of the way. It seemed strange.... And now I see that I must have felt--known--all along.... But," said the strange young man, setting down the vase and hurriedly running his fingers through his hair, "I--I realize that this must sound most unconvincing to you. Probably foolish. No matter...." But Cally felt by now that she understood him better than he understood himself. "No, I think I understand," said she. "And if you hadn't felt that way--don't you see?--it never would have happened." He turned on her another strange look, at once intensely interested and intensely bewildered. But she glanced away from it at once, and would give him no chance to ask her what that might mean. "I've got so much I want to tell you, so much I want to ask your advice and help about," said she, rising, with a change to what she regarded as an excellent business voice and manner. "Perhaps we ought to go into executive session at once--and let's go into the library, too! I know you're awfully busy, but I do hope you've come prepared to make a good long visit." The article-writer neglected to reply at all, moving after her with his queer, startled look.... So these two passed from the Heth drawing-room to the Heth library, to talk about business: the new Heth Works, in fine. They came into a room which was intimately and poignantly associated with Hugo Canning. Memories of the departed greeted Cally upon the threshold, and thereafter; only they were not poignant now. Hugo's face kept rising mistily beside the so different visage of the man he had instinctively disliked, his ancient hoodoo.... This was to be a meeting like none other Cally had ever had with the stranger in her house, a _happy_ meeting, troubled by no shadow. They sat down across the great table from each other, in good business style, as she considered; and then she began to talk eagerly, recounting to him without any embarrassment, though of course with some judicious expurgation, what had been going on in her mind, and out of it, during the last five days; beginning with the afternoon she had seen him at the Cooneys', and culminating with the long talk she had had with her father at, and after, luncheon to-day.