fortunately, no one reads--and doing equally inconsequential things.
Now I'm going down for a few days in the city. I can only go when the
weather is fine and when winter sets in, I must come back and bury
myself with no companions except some books and a pair of snowshoes."

"Are you going to die?" she asked him in large-eyed concern.

"Some day I am," he laughed. "But I'm rather stubborn. I'm going to
postpone that as long as possible. Several doctors tell me that I have
an even chance. It seems to be a sort of fifty-fifty bet between the
bugs and me. I suppose a fellow oughtn't to ask more than an even
break."

She stood regarding him with vast interest. She had never known a man
before who chatted so casually about the probable necessity of dying. He
grew as she watched him to very interesting and romantic proportions.

"What's your name?" she demanded.

"My last name's Edwardes," he told her. And it was only her own
out-of-the-world ignorance that kept her from recognizing in the name a
synonym for titanic finance. "In front of that they put a number of
ridiculous prefixes when I was quite young and helpless. There is
Jefferson and Doorland and others. At college they called me Pup."

In return for his confidence, the girl told him who she was and where
she lived and how old she was.

"You say your name is Mary Burton? I must remember that because in, say
ten years, provided I last that long, I expect to hear of you."