On the last Saturday in April, the New York "Times"published an account of the strike complicationswhich were delaying Alexander's New Jersey bridge,and stated that the engineer himself was in townand at his office on West Tenth Street.

On Sunday, the day after this notice appeared,Alexander worked all day at his Tenth Street rooms.His business often called him to New York,and he had kept an apartment there for years,subletting it when he went abroad for any length of time.Besides his sleeping-room and bath, there was alarge room, formerly a painter's studio, which heused as a study and office. It was furnishedwith the cast-off possessions of his bachelordays and with odd things which he shelteredfor friends of his who followed itinerant andmore or less artistic callings. Over the fireplacethere was a large old-fashioned gilt mirror. Alexander's big work-table stood in frontof one of the three windows, and above thecouch hung the one picture in the room, a bigcanvas of charming color and spirit, a studyof the Luxembourg Gardens in early spring,painted in his youth by a man who had sincebecome a portrait-painter of internationalrenown. He had done it for Alexander whenthey were students together in Paris.

Sunday was a cold, raw day and a fine rainfell continuously. When Alexander came backfrom dinner he put more wood on his fire,made himself comfortable, and settleddown at his desk, where he began checkingover estimate sheets. It was after nine o'clockand he was lighting a second pipe, when hethought he heard a sound at his door. Hestarted and listened, holding the burningmatch in his hand; again he heard the samesound, like a firm, light tap. He rose andcrossed the room quickly. When he threwopen the door he recognized the figure thatshrank back into the bare, dimly lit hallway.He stood for a moment in awkward constraint,his pipe in his hand.

"Come in," he said to Hilda at last, andclosed the door behind her. He pointed to achair by the fire and went back to his worktable. "Won't you sit down?"

He was standing behind the table,turning over a pile of blueprints nervously.The yellow light from the student's lamp fell onhis hands and the purple sleeves of his velvetsmoking-jacket, but his flushed face and big,hard head were in the shadow. There wassomething about him that made Hilda wishherself at her hotel again, in the street below,anywhere but where she was.

"Of course I know, Bartley," she said atlast, "that after this you won't owe me theleast consideration. But we sail on Tuesday.I saw that interview in the paper yesterday,telling where you were, and I thought I hadto see you. That's all. Good-night; I'm going now."She turned and her hand closed on the door-knob.

Alexander hurried toward her and tookher gently by the arm. "Sit down, Hilda;you're wet through. Let me take off your coat--and your boots; they're oozing water."He knelt down and began to unlace her shoes,while Hilda shrank into the chair. "Here, putyour feet on this stool. You don't mean to sayyou walked down--and without overshoes!"

Hilda hid her face in her hands. "I wasafraid to take a cab. Can't you see, Bartley,that I'm terribly frightened? I've beenthrough this a hundred times to-day. Don'tbe any more angry than you can help. I wasall right until I knew you were in town.If you'd sent me a note, or telephoned me,or anything! But you won't let me write to you,and I had to see you after that letter, thatterrible letter you wrote me when you got home."

Alexander faced her, resting his arm onthe mantel behind him, and began to brushthe sleeve of his jacket. "Is this the way youmean to answer it, Hilda?" he asked unsteadily.

She was afraid to look up at him."Didn't--didn't you mean even to say goodbyto me, Bartley? Did you mean just to--quit me?" she asked. "I came to tell you thatI'm willing to do as you asked me. But it's nouse talking about that now. Give me my things,please." She put her hand out toward the fender.

Alexander sat down on the arm of her chair."Did you think I had forgotten you werein town, Hilda? Do you think I kept away by accident?Did you suppose I didn't know you were sailing on Tuesday?There is a letter for you there, in my desk drawer.It was to have reached you on the steamer. I wasall the morning writing it. I told myself thatif I were really thinking of you, and not of myself,a letter would be better than nothing.Marks on paper mean something to you."He paused. "They never did to me."

Hilda smiled up at him beautifully andput her hand on his sleeve. "Oh, Bartley!Did you write to me? Why didn't you telephoneme to let me know that you had? Then I wouldn'thave come."

Alexander slipped his arm about her. "I didn't knowit before, Hilda, on my honor I didn't, but I believeit was because, deep down in me somewhere, I was hopingI might drive you to do just this. I've watchedthat door all day. I've jumped up if the fire crackled.I think I have felt that you were coming."He bent his face over her hair.

"And I," she whispered,--"I felt that you were feeling that.But when I came, I thought I had been mistaken."

Alexander started up and began to walk up and down the room.

"No, you weren't mistaken. I've been up in Canadawith my bridge, and I arranged not to come to New Yorkuntil after you had gone. Then, when your manageradded two more weeks, I was already committed."He dropped upon the stool in front of her andsat with his hands hanging between his knees."What am I to do, Hilda?"

"That's what I wanted to see you about,Bartley. I'm going to do what you asked meto do when you were in London. Only I'll doit more completely. I'm going to marry."

"Who?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter much! One of them.Only not Mac. I'm too fond of him."

Alexander moved restlessly. "Are you joking, Hilda?"

"Indeed I'm not."

"Then you don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, I know very well. I've thoughtabout it a great deal, and I've quite decided.I never used to understand how women did thingslike that, but I know now. It's because they can'tbe at the mercy of the man they love any longer."

Alexander flushed angrily. "So it's betterto be at the mercy of a man you don't love?"

"Under such circumstances, infinitely!"

There was a flash in her eyes that madeAlexander's fall. He got up and went over tothe window, threw it open, and leaned out.He heard Hilda moving about behind him.When he looked over his shoulder she waslacing her boots. He went back and stoodover her.

"Hilda you'd better think a while longerbefore you do that. I don't know what Iought to say, but I don't believe you'd behappy; truly I don't. Aren't you trying tofrighten me?"

She tied the knot of the last lacing andput her boot-heel down firmly. "No; I'mtelling you what I've made up my mind to do.I suppose I would better do it without telling you.But afterward I shan't have an opportunity to explain,for I shan't be seeing you again."

Alexander started to speak, but caught himself.When Hilda rose he sat down on the arm of her chairand drew her back into it.

"I wouldn't be so much alarmed if I didn'tknow how utterly reckless you CAN be.Don't do anything like that rashly."His face grew troubled. "You wouldn't be happy.You are not that kind of woman. I'd never haveanother hour's peace if I helped to make youdo a thing like that." He took her facebetween his hands and looked down into it."You see, you are different, Hilda. Don't youknow you are?" His voice grew softer, histouch more and more tender. "Some womencan do that sort of thing, but you--you canlove as queens did, in the old time."

Hilda had heard that soft, deep tone in hisvoice only once before. She closed her eyes;her lips and eyelids trembled. "Only one, Bartley.Only one. And he threw it back at me a second time."

She felt the strength leap in the armsthat held her so lightly.

"Try him again, Hilda. Try him once again."

She looked up into his eyes, and hid herface in her hands.