Frances Waldeaux

"Lucy, would you be willing to come to my house? To take it for home? To be a poor man's wife, there? God knows I'll try to make you happy in it."

"No," she said gently. "That is your mother's home. She has made it. It is not fair to bring young queen bees into the old queen's hive. We will live at your house, Dunbar Place, George."

"It is not mine nor yours!" George broke out. "Oh, my darling, I have hidden something from you. It is all gone. Your property, income, every thing! The Consolidated Consolidated Companies failed. Their depositors are ruined."

"Yes, I know," said Lucy, brushing a fallen leaf from her gown. "But they had no control over my affairs. I withdrew them from their management in February."

George started up. "Then you—you are a great heiress still?"

"No." She rose, holding out her hands, laughing. "My husband, I believe, is a rich man, and I shall have what he gives me."

But he did not hear her. He walked away down the road, shaken by a dumb fury. He had been tricked! Who had tricked him?

Then he heard a miserable sob and turned. Great God! Was any thing on earth so dear as that little woman standing there? She was crying! Had he struck her? He was a brute. What had he done?

He ran to her, and taking her outstretched hands, kissed them passionately.

"They are mine—mine!" he whispered, and knew nothing beyond.

They walked together like two happy children down the shady lane toward the golden sunset. The money was forgotten.