In the past Britt had purred paternally in her presence and had stared at her in a way that often disconcerted her. Now his expression alarmed her. His face grew red. At first she thought he was embarrassed by the reflection that he had been terming the Prophet's compliments an insult--intimating that she had no claim to such compliments. But Mr. Britt did not bother to deal with that phase of the matter. The flame was shifted from his face to his eyes; his cheeks grew pale. He tried to put his arm about her. She set her gloved hands against the arm and pushed it away, fright popping her eyelids wide apart. “I want to protect you,” Britt stuttered. “I don't want any harm or trouble to come to you.” He stepped back and gazed at her imploringly. His abashed obedience, his promptness in desisting, restored her self-possession immediately. She had the air of one who had misunderstood friendly interest. “Oh, Mr. Britt, I know you have a kind heart underneath your--I mean that folks don't realize how good you are unless they are near to you, as Frank and I are. We often speak of it.” She hurried on. She opened the door admitting to the bank from the corridor and cheerily called her “Good morning!” to the cashier as she crossed the threshold. Mr. Britt stood in his tracks in the corridor after she closed the door. He stared at the floor with eyes that saw nothing. He slowly raised his hand and set his right index finger upon the toupee and scratched meditatively through the mesh--scratched carefully, having accustomed himself to handling his boughten hair with cautious touch. He had not liked her intonation when she said “Frank and I.” He muttered something about his feelings. He had never thought of Frank as belonging in Vona's calculations. He had never considered even the linking of their names, much less their interests. But Mr. Britt, having made money his idol, could not understand worship directed to any other shrine. His face cleared while he pondered. A girl who frankly declared at all times that she would do 'most anything to help her family out of their troubles was not of a mind to hitch up with another pauper--a combination of choreman and cashier--even though she had linked their names casually in speech. And Mr. Britt mouthed mumblingly some of the sentiments he had put into words that morning when he arose. He smoothed down the top piece and looked more at ease. He smiled when he reflected on what he would have to say to her after Emissary Orne had returned with something in the line of fruits from the Promised Land. His self-assurance revived; nevertheless, he tiptoed along the corridor and listened at the door of the bank. The reassuring swish of a broom and their casual chatter--he heard only those commonplace sounds! She was asking Vaniman if he had mislaid her dustcloth.