"Read mine next," and Foster held out his right hand.

"Haven't time; besides," the spinster's eyes twinkled, "I know your
character like a book. What is it, Sylvester?" as her colored butler
appeared, card tray in hand. "More visitors? Oh, yes, the Peytons--I
particularly want you to know them, Minna; no, you must not think of
leaving yet," and with her accustomed energy Miss Kiametia whisked Mrs.
Whitney into the drawing-room, Senator Foster following. As Kathleen
stepped toward the door, Miller stopped her.

"Don't go," he pleaded, his voice, though low, vibrating with pent-up
feeling. "Kathleen, my beloved, don't go."

She placed an unsteady hand on the portiere. "I must," she stammered.
"They need me...."

"No, I am the one who needs you. My last chance of happiness lies in the
balance. Kathleen, give me a hearing."

Slowly, reluctantly she turned in his direction. "Be wise, leave things
as they are...."

"I cannot." Miller was white with the intensity of his emotion. "I love
you, love you."

Kathleen's hand crept to her heart as if to still its wild throb.

"Don't, don't"--she looked beseechingly at him. "Have you forgotten..."