luxurious life—he could see her regaling young men with tea before a fireplace in a beautiful room insipid tea in thimble-like cups.
"You are very kind," she said. "I hardly expected to be here the night through. It is rather cold, but I am sure we have rugs and coats enough,"
Mr. Magee's duty was clear.
"I'll build you a fire," he announced. The girl seemed distressed at the thought.
"No, I couldn't let you," she said. "I am sure it isn't necessary. I will say good night now."
"Good night. If there is anything I can do—"
"I shall tell you," she finished, smiling. "I believe I forgot to give you my name. I am Myra Thornhill, of Reuton. Until to-morrow." She went in and closed the door.
Mr. Magee sat limply down on the cold stair. All the glory was gone from the scene he had pictured a moment ago. He had the money, yes, the money procured in valiant battle, but at the moment he bore the prize to his lady, another appeared from the dark to claim it. What should he do?
