"Dear Mr. Sanderson:
"I wish to say that I have obtained the loan I required from the 'Grocers' National,' so I shall not need to keep my appointment with you. I leave for New York to-day, and shall be unable to see you on your return from St. Louis. Thanking you for your kindness to me while in Chicago, believe me, with kindest regards,
"Yours faithfully,
"June 29. Duncan Grahame."
Marion shuddered as she put down the note. It told its story and she felt that there was nothing more to be said.
"This is the letter I want you to answer," said Roswell, taking up the one from Bar Harbor.
Marion looked thoughtfully at the floor a moment, then, glancing up, she said: "If you don't mind, dear, I should like to go to some quieter place. I have had excitements before, but I have never had my husband, and I want him all to myself."
"My darling," said Roswell.
Florence entered the room and stood for a moment near the door. At first she was too surprised to speak, then, appreciating the propriety of making her presence known, she retreated a few steps and said: "May I come in?"
"Of course you may, you dear girl," said Marion, looking up. "You may come in and find the happiest woman in the world. Don't look surprised. Roswell and I are young lovers, and we are laying plans for our honeymoon. I don't deserve my happiness, but I have just discovered that I have the best husband in the world."
Florence ran to Marion's side and kissed her. "Let me share your joy," she said.
That evening Harold Wainwright dined at the Sandersons, and four happy people seated themselves at the little, round table. The candles shed the same cheerful light upon the white linen and the glistening plate, and François moved from place to place with his wonted precision; but the fire of love had kindled on the hearth, and in that home a new life had begun.