"To you, Jim?"
"Certainly; wanted to lend me money when I arrived in town on my uppers."
The girl smiled.
"Oh, he's all right," said Edgerton; "I've known him since he was six and I twelve."
"He—is—all—right," repeated Christine slowly; "but—am I, Jim?"
"You know you are—kleine Fischerin!"
"But I wrote him that wretched letter. If it hurt him as it hurt me—" She ceased abruptly, and turned her face toward the window.
"You were years younger, then."
"One year," tremulously.
"Years, sweetness.... Do you think your father will ever stand for him?"