spoil any sheets, don't throw them away, but return everything to me."

"I'm always careful about the waste-paper baskets," said she, "since
they warned me that there are men who make a living searching the waste
thrown out of offices."

He made no reply. He could not have spoken if he had tried. Once more
the spell had seized him--the spell of her weird fascination for him. As
she sat typewriting, with her back almost toward him, he sat watching
her and analyzing his own folly. He knew that diagnosing a disease does
not cure it; but he found an acute pleasure in lingering upon all the
details of the effect she had upon his nerves. He did not dare move from
his desk, from the position that put a huge table and a revolving case
of reference books between them. He believed that if he went nearer he
would be unable to resist seizing her in his arms and pouring out the
passion that was playing along his nerves as the delicate, intense flame
flits back and forth along the surface of burning alcohol.

A knock at the door. He plunged into his papers. "Come!" he called.

Tetlow thrust in his head. Miss Hallowell did not look up. "I'm off,"
the head clerk said. His gaze was upon the unconscious girl--a gaze that
filled Norman with longing to strangle him.

"Telegraph me from Albany as soon as you get there," said Norman.
"Telegraph me at my club."

Tetlow was gone. The machine tapped monotonously on. The barette which
held the girl's hair at the back was so high that the full beauty of the
nape of her neck was revealed. That wonderful white skin with the golden