glare of the passing headlight when a voice, disembodied for the
moment, said: "Wait a minute, Miss Carteret; I'd like to have a word
with you."

She drew back quickly.

"Is it you, Mr. Jastrow? Let me go in, please."

"In one moment. I have something to say to you--something you ought to
hear."

"Can't it be said on the other side of the door? I am cold--very cold,
Mr. Jastrow."

It was his saving hint, but he would not take it.

"No, it must be said to you alone. We have at least one thing in
common, Miss Carteret--you and I: that is a proper appreciation of the
successful realities. I--"

She stopped him with a quick little gesture of impatience.

"Will you be good enough to stand aside and let me go in?"

The keen breath of the snow-caps was summer-warm in comparison with
the chilling iciness of her manner; but the secretary went on unmoved:

"Success is the only thing worth while in this world. Winton will
fail, but I shan't. And when I do succeed, I shall marry a woman who
can wear the purple most becomingly."