any man who was a loiterer on God's highway, who could live life without
some sincerity in his aims. It all came to him again in this room, so
austere in its appointments, yet so gracious, so full of the spirit of
humanity without a note of ennui, or the rust of careless deeds. As this
thought grew he looked at the face of the girl, then at the faces of the
father and mother, and the memory of his boast came back--that he would
win the stake he laid, to know the story of John and Audrey Malbrouck
before this coming Christmas morning. With a faint smile at his own past
insolent self, he glanced at the clock. It was eleven. "I have lost my
bet," he unconsciously said aloud.

He was roused by John Malbrouck remarking: "Yes, you have lost your bet?
Well, what was it?" The youth, the childlike quality in him," flushed
his face deeply, and then, with a sudden burst of frankness, he said:

"I did not know that I had spoken. As for the bet, I deserve to be
thrashed for ever having made it; but, duffer as I am, I want you to know
that I'm something worse than duffer. The first time I met you I made a
bet that I should know your history before Christmas Day. I haven't a
word to say for myself. I'm contemptible. I beg your pardon; for your
history is none of my business. I was really interested; that's all; but
your lives, I believe it, as if it was in the Bible, have been great--
yes, that's the word! and I'm a better chap for having known you,
though, perhaps, I've known you all along, because, you see, I've--I've
been friends with your daughter--and-well, really I haven't anything else
to say, except that I hope you'll forgive me, and let me know you
always."

Malbrouck regarded him for a moment with a grave smile, and then looked
toward his wife. Both turned their glances quickly upon Margaret, whose