"Won't you spare me a few moments, Braden?" said Anne steadily. "There is something that I must say to you. To-morrow will not do. It must be now."
He looked concerned. "Has anything serious—"
"Nothing—yet," she broke in, anticipating his question.
"Sit down, Braden," said Lutie cheerfully. "I'll make myself scarce. I see you are down for a big job to-day. Good boy! I told you they'd come your way if you waited long enough. It is a big job, isn't it?"
"Ra-ther," said he, smiling. "I daresay it will make or break me."
"I should think you'd be frightfully nervous."
"Well, I'm not, strange to say. On the contrary, I'm as fit as a fiddle."
"When do you—perform this operation?" Anne asked, as Lutie left the room.
"This afternoon. He has a superstition about it. Doesn't want it done until after banking hours. Queerest idea I've ever known." He spoke in quick, jerky sentences.
She held her breath for an instant, and then cried out imploringly: "I don't want you to do it, Braden,—I don't want you to do it. If not for my sake, then for your own you must refuse to go on with it."