"Perhaps—though I suppose he couldn't really be that—not very well— with twenty millions, could he? But I mean, he wasn't very bad, nor very good. He didn't seem to be dissipated, or mixed up in any scandal, or to be recklessly extravagant, like so many rich men. On the other hand, I couldn't find that he'd done any particular good in the world. Some charities were mentioned, but they were perfunctory, apparently, and I don't believe, from the accounts, that he ever really INTERESTED himself in any one—that he ever really cared for— any one."

"Oh, you don't!" If Miss Maggie had looked up, she would have met a most disconcerting expression in the eyes bent upon her. But Miss Maggie did not look up.

"No," she proceeded calmly. "Why, he didn't even have a wife and children to stir him from his selfishness. He had a secretary, of course, and he probably never saw half his begging letters. I can imagine his tossing them aside with a languid 'Fix them up, James,— give the creatures what they want, only don't bother me.'"

"He NEVER did!" stormed Mr. Smith; then, hastily: "I'm sure he never did. You wrong him. I'm sure you wrong him."

"Maybe I do," sighed Miss Maggie. "But when I think of what he might do—Twenty millions! I can't grasp it. Can you? But he didn't do— anything—worth while with them, so far as I can see, when he was living, so that's why I can't imagine what his will may be. Probably the same old perfunctory charities, however, with the Chicago law firm instead of 'James' as disburser—unless, of course, Hattie's expectations are fulfilled, and he divides them among the Blaisdells here."

"You think—there's something worth while he MIGHT have done with those millions, then?" pleaded Mr. Smith, a sudden peculiar wistfulness in his eyes.

"Something he MIGHT have done with them!" exclaimed Miss Maggie. "Why, it seems to me there's no end to what he might have done—with twenty millions."

"What would YOU do?"

"I?—do with twenty millions?" she breathed.

"Yes, you." Mr. Smith came nearer, his face working with emotion. "Miss Maggie, if a man with twenty millions—that is, could you love a man with twenty millions, if—if Mr. Fulton should ask you—if I were Mr. Fulton—if—" His countenance changed suddenly. He drew himself up with a cry of dismay. "Oh, no—no—I've spoiled it all now. That isn't what I meant to say first. I was going to find out—I mean, I was going to tell—Oh, good Heavens, what a—That confounded money— again!"

Miss Maggie sprang to her feet.

"Why, Mr. Smith, w-what—" Only the crisp shutting of the door answered her. With a beseeching look and a despairing gesture Mr. Smith had gone.