were rumors of an approaching fashionable marriage in the air, and
vague hints in the "Record" that the presence of a distinguished
capitalist might soon be required abroad. The face of that
distinguished man did not, however, reflect the gayety of nature
nor the anticipation of happiness; on the contrary, for the past
few weeks, he had appeared disturbed and anxious, and that rude
tranquillity which had characterized him was wanting. People shook
their heads; a few suggested speculations; all agreed on
extravagance.

One morning, after office hours, Slinn, who had been watching the
careworn face of his employer, suddenly rose and limped to his
side.

"We promised each other," he said, in a voice trembling with
emotion; "never to allude to our talk of Christmas Eve again unless
we had other proofs of what I told you then. We have none; I don't
believe we'll ever have any more. I don't care if we ever do, and
I break that promise now because I cannot bear to see you unhappy
and know that this is the cause."

Mulrady made a motion of deprecation, but the old man continued--

"You are unhappy, Alvin Mulrady. You are unhappy because you want
to give your daughter a dowry of two hundred and fifty thousand
dollars, and you will not use the fortune that you think may be
mine."

"Who's been talking about a dowry?" asked Mulrady, with an angry
flush.