find fault with your sympathy. I should hate you if you didn't feel
it--but this man Edwardes is doomed. Nothing can save him. If heaven
itself fought for him, I would make war on heaven, whoever attempts to
thwart me--even if it be you, Paul, shall go with him to ruin. We won't
talk of this again."

* * * * *

Mary Burton awoke one morning to see, through her window blinds, a
mixture of snow and rain falling from low-hanging clouds; yet her lips
parted in a smile. She glanced at the clock by her bed. It was eleven.
In just one week and sixty minutes she and Jefferson Edwardes would be
standing at the altar.

She threw a dressing-gown about her, and, slipping her small pink feet
into small pink slippers, crossed idly to the window. Then with a face
that in an instant went white with a premonition of disaster, she
wheeled on Julie and her voice came in an agitated whisper.

"What are they calling extras about? Get me a paper quick." When a few
minutes later a sheet still damp from the presses lay before her she
needed only the flaring headlines to corroborate her fears. With
throbbing temples she swayed unsteadily as she made her way to a chair
and sank down, gripping the paper tightly in a clenched fist. Four words
were hammering themselves into her brain and heart: "Stock-Exchange in
Frenzy." ... Her apathy of inactivity lasted only a few moments. Then
she came to her feet and, instead of panic, resolution sounded through
her voice. "Dress me, Julie," she commanded. "Dress me quickly. I must
be down-town at once. 'Phone for the car. Don't waste an instant." At
least she would be there--where battle was raging.