He tossed the match into the fire, drew in a deep breath of smoke, settled himself comfortably in the chair before exhaling, and then remarked:
"But I don't happen to be an old man. I happen to be a rather young one,—and a very truthful one to boot."
"Do you always tell the truth?"
He grinned. "More or less always," was his reply. "I never lie in October."
"And the other eleven months of the year?"
"Oh, I merely change the wording. In July I say 'I never lie in July,'—and so on throughout the twelve-month. I don't slight a single month. By the by, I hope I didn't pop in too far ahead of time this afternoon. You asked me to come at four. I'm half an hour early. Were you occupied with anything—"
"I was not busy. A few letters,—but they can wait." He caught the faint shadow of a cloud as it flitted across her eyes. "They are all personal,—nothing important in any of them, I am sure."
She shot a quick glance at the folded check and, arising abruptly, went over to the table where, with apparent unconcern, she ran through the little pile of letters. He saw her pick up the check and thrust it into the pocket of her sport skirt. Then she returned to the fireplace. The cloud was on her brow again as she stared darkly into the crackling flames. He knew now that it was Strong's letter she had destroyed in anger. He would have given much to know what the man she despised so heartily had written to her. If he could have seen that brief note he would have read:
DEAR ALIX:
I enclose my checque for two-fifty. If all goes well I hope to clean up the indebtedness by the first of the year. In any case, I am sure it can be accomplished by early spring. You may thank the flu for my present prosperity. It has been pretty bad here in the East again, although not so virulent as before. Please credit me with the amount. This leaves me owing you five hundred dollars. It should not take long to wipe it out entirely, interest and all.