"I spoke to you twice, Miss Whitney, but you apparently did not hear me,"
he answered, lifting his hat. "I asked if I might accompany you, and took
silence for consent. My way lies your way."

Kathleen's fingers clenched tightly together inside her muff. "Are you
dead to all sense of decency?" she asked. "Can you not see that your
presence is an offense?"

Miller's color rose, and there was an ominous flash in his blue-gray
eyes, but she met his look undauntedly. "I think you take an exaggerated
view of the matter," he said quietly. "I desire your friendship."

"You dare ask that after...."

With a quiet masterful gesture Miller stopped her. "We are living in the
present," he said. "I repent the past. Come"--with deepening earnestness,
"you are warm-hearted, impulsive, generous--be generous to me--give me a
chance to make good. Before God, I will not fail you."

Kathleen scanned him keenly. Could she place faith in his sincerity?
As she met the penetrating glance she knew of old, now softened by the
fascination of his winning smile, she came again under the old
personal charm.

"I cannot be friends with a man whom I do not respect," she stammered.

"But you shall respect me," with dogged determination, "and then...."

A bevy of girls, coming out of Galt's, paused to greet Kathleen, and
Miller, not waiting to complete his sentence, bowed to her and continued