appreciates the wickedness of the thing she is about to do. I insist that
it is my right to speak with her, to urge her to reconsider, to point out
to her the horrors of—"

"She will not see you, Braden," broke in the mother, finality in her
voice.

"She _must_ see me," he shouted. "If not to-day, to-morrow; if not then,
some other day, for, by the Eternal, Mrs. Tresslyn, I intend to speak with
her if I have to wait until the accursed day you have selected,—at the
very altar, if necessary. She shall not go into this thing until she has
had the final word with me, and I with her. She does not know what she is
doing. She is carried away by the thought of all that money—Money! Good
God, Mrs. Tresslyn, she has told me a hundred times that she would marry
me if I were as poor as the raggedest beggar in the streets. She loves me,
she cannot play this vile trick on me. Her heart is pure. You cannot make
me believe that she isn't honest and fair and loyal. I tell you now, once
and for all, that I will not stand idly by and see this vile sacrifice
made in order to—"

"Rawson," interrupted Mrs. Tresslyn, looking beyond him in the direction
of the door, "Doctor Thorpe is going. Will you give him his hat and coat?"
She had pressed a button beside the mantelpiece, and in response to the
call, the butler stood in the doorway. "Good day, Braden. I am sorry that
Anne is unable to see you to-day. She—"

"Good day, Mrs. Tresslyn," he choked out, controlling himself with an
effort. "Will you tell her that I shall call to-morrow?"

She smiled. "When do you expect to return to London? I had hoped to have