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He had been told that was her condition, and that she was in ill health, and that from all who loved her she had refused to accept help. At the thought his jaws locked pugnaciously. There was one who loved her, who, should she refuse his aid, was prepared to make her life intolerable. He planned in succession at lightning speed all he might do for her. Among other things he would make this Christmas the happiest she or he would ever know. Not for an instant did he question that she who had refused help from all who loved her could refuse anything he offered. For he knew it was offered with a love that demanded nothing in return, with a love that asked only to be allowed to love, and to serve. To refuse help inspired by such a feeling as his would be morbid, wicked, ridiculous, as though a flower refused to turn its face to the sun, and shut its lips to the dew.

The cab stopped in front of a brick building adorned with many fire- escapes. Afterward he remembered a bare, brilliantly lit hall hung with photographs of the Acropolis, and a stout, capable woman in a cap, who looked him over and said:

“You will find Mrs. Stedman in the writing-room.”

And he remembered entering a room filled with Mission furniture and reading-lamps under green shades. It was empty, except for a young girl in deep black, who was seated facing him, her head bent above a writing-desk. As he came into the circle of the lamps the girl raised her eyes and as though lifted to her feet by what she saw, and through no effort of her own, stood erect.

And the young man who had persuaded himself his love demanded nothing, who asked only to worship at her gate, found his arms reaching out, and heard his voice as though it came from a great distance, cry, “Frances!”

And the girl who had refused the help of all who loved her, like a homing pigeon walked straight into the outstretched arms.

After five minutes, when he was almost able to believe it was true, he said in his commanding, masterful way: “And now I’m going to take you out of here. I’m going to buy you a ring, and a sable coat, and a house to live in, and a dinner. Which shall we buy first?”

“First,” said Frances, frowning happily, “I am afraid we must go to the Ritz, to tell Aunt Emily. She always loved you, and it will make her so happy.”

“To the Ritz!” stammered the young man. “To Aunt Emily! I thought they told me your aunt and-you-“

“We quarrelled, yes,” said Frances, “and she has forgiven me; but she has not forgiven herself, so she spoils me, and already I have a house to live in, and several sable coats, and, oh! everything, everything but the ring.”

“I am so sorry!” cried Lee. “I thought you were poor. I hoped you were poor. But you are joking!” he exclaimed delightedly. “You are here in a working girls’ home-“

“It is one of Aunt Emily’s charities. She built it,” said Frances. “I come here to talk to the girls.”

“But,” persisted Lee triumphantly, “if you are not poor, why did you pawn our silver loving-cup?”

The face of the girl became a lovely crimson, and tears rose to her eyes. As though at a confessional, she lifted her hands penitently.

“Try to understand,” she begged; “I wanted you to love me, not for my money-“

“But you knew!” cried Lee.

“I had to be sure,” begged the girl; “and I wanted to believe you loved me even if I did not love you. When it was too late I knew you loved me as no woman ever deserved to be loved; and I wanted that love. I could not live without it. So when I read in the papers you had returned I wouldn’t let myself write you; I wouldn’t let myself beg you to come to see me. I set a test for you. I knew from the papers you were at the Army and Navy Club, and that around the corner was the recruiting office. I’d often seen the sergeant there, in uniform, at the door. I knew you must pass from your club to the office many times each day, so I thought of the loving-cup and the pawn-shop. I planted it there. It was a trick, a test. I thought if you saw it in a pawn-shop you would believe I no longer cared for you, and that I was very poor. If you passed it by, then I would know you yourself had stopped caring, but if you asked about it, if you inquired for me, then I would know you came to me of your own wish, because you-“

Lee shook his head.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said gently, “why I came. I’ve a cab outside. You will get in it,” he commanded, “and we will rescue our cup. I always told you they would look well together over an open fireplace.”