With a smile on his lips, Sam began trying to picture a woman’s lying in his place and looking at the moon over the pulsating hill. The colonel continued talking. He grew franker, telling the name of his beloved and the circumstances of their meeting and courtship. “She is an actress, a working girl,” he said feelingly. “I met her at a dinner given by Will Sperry one evening and she was the only woman there who did not drink wine. After the dinner we went for a drive together and she told me of her hard life, of her fight against temptations, and of her brother, an artist, she is trying to get started in the world. We have been together a dozen times and have written letters, and, Sam, we have discovered an affinity for each other.” Sam sat up in bed. “Letters!” he muttered. “The old dog is going to get himself involved.” He dropped again upon the pillow. “Well, let him. Why need I bother myself?” The colonel, having begun talking, could not stop. “Although we have seen each other only a dozen times, a letter has passed between us every day. Oh, if you could see the letters she writes. They are wonderful.” A worried sigh broke from the colonel. “I want Sue to invite her to the house, but I am afraid,” he complained; “I am afraid she will be wrong-headed about it. Women are such determined creatures. She and my Luella should meet and know each other, but if I go home and tell her she may make a scene and hurt Luella’s feelings.” The moon had risen, shedding its light in Sam’s eyes, and he turned his back to the colonel and prepared to sleep. The naive credulity of the older man had touched a spring of mirth in him and from time to time the covering of his bed continued to quiver suggestively. “I would not hurt her feelings for anything. She is the squarest little woman alive,” the voice of the colonel announced. The voice broke and the colonel, who habitually roared forth his sentiments, began to dither. Sam wondered if his feelings had been touched by the thoughts of his daughter or of the lady from the stage. “It is a wonderful thing,” half sobbed the colonel, “when a young and beautiful woman gives her whole heart into the keeping of a man like me.” It was a week later before Sam heard more of the affair. Looking up from his desk in the offices in LaSalle Street one morning, he found Sue Rainey standing before him. She was a small athletic looking woman with black hair, square shoulders, cheeks browned by the sun and wind, and quiet grey eyes. She stood facing Sam’s desk and pulled off a glove while she looked down at him with amused, quizzical eyes. Sam rose, and leaning over the flat-topped desk, took her hand, wondering what had brought her there.