"Is he as rich an old miser as they say?"

"He doesn't look rich, does he?" was the enigmatical answer.

"Does any one know his real history? He didn't come from nowhere. He
must have had friends once. Some one must once have cared for him,
though he seems such a monster now."

"Yet he cures people sometimes," he rejoined abstractedly. "Probably
there's some good underneath. I'm going to try and see."

"What is it. What is your business with him? Won't you tell me? Is it
so secret?"

"I want him to help me in a case I've got in hand. A client of mine is
in trouble--you mustn't ask about it; and he can help, I think--I think
so." He got to his feet. "I must be going, Di," he added. Suddenly a
flush swept over his face, and he reached out and took both her hands.
"Oh, you are a million times too good for me!" he said. "But if all
goes well, I'll do my best to make you forget it."

"Wait--wait one moment," she answered. "Before you go, I want you to
hear what I've been reading over and over to myself just now. It is from
a book I got from Quebec, called 'When Time Shall Pass'. It is a story
of two like you and me. The man is writing to the woman, and it has
things that you have said to me--in a different way."

"No, I don't talk like a book, but I know a star in a dark night when I
see it," he answered, with a catch in his throat.