come to her. How had it happened to her quiet, conventional life? Ah, it
was good and dear, whatever it was! She pressed her happy eyes with her
fluttering, nervous fingers, to keep the glad tears back, and laughed out
to herself a joyful ripple such as she had not uttered since her uncle's
death.

A knock at the door brought her back to realities again. Her heart
throbbed wildly. Had he come back to her already? Or had her enemy found
her out at last?

Tryon Dunham hurried up the steps of the Y.W.C.A. Building, nearly
knocking over a baggy individual in rubbers, who was lurking in the
entrance. The young man had seen a boy in uniform, laden with two enormous
boxes, run up the steps as he turned the last corner. Hastily writing a
few lines on one of his cards and slipping it into the largest box, he
sent them both up to the girl's room. Then he sauntered to the door to see
if the carriage had come. It was there. He glanced inside to see if his
orders about flowers had been fulfilled, and spoke a few words of
direction to the driver. Turning back to the door, he found the small, red
eyes of the baggy Irishman fixed upon him. Something in the slouch of the
figure reminded Dunham strongly now of the man he had noticed the night
before, and as he went back into the building he looked the man over well
and determined to watch him. As he sat in the office waiting, twice he saw
the bleary eyes of the baggy man applied to the glass panes in the front
door and as suddenly withdrawn. It irritated him, and finally he strode to
the door and asked the man if he were looking for some one.

"Just waitin' fer me sweetheart," whined the man, with a cringing
attitude. "She has a room in here, an' I saw her go in a while back."