She was backing away now, slowly, step by step. Anger, almost loathing, had taken the place of the amazement and incredulity in her eyes.

"And YOU are Mr. Fulton?"

"Yes, yes! But—" "And you've been here all these months—yes, years— under a false name, pretending to be what you weren't—talking to us, eating at our tables, winning our confidence, letting us talk to you about yourself, even pretending that—Oh, how could you?" Her voice broke.

"Maggie, dearest," he begged, springing toward her, "if you'll only let me—"

But she stopped him peremptorily, drawing herself to her full height.

"I am NOT your dearest," she flamed angrily. "I did not give my love— to YOU."

"Maggie!" he implored.

But she drew back still farther.

"No! I gave it to John Smith—gentleman, I supposed. A man—poor, yes, I believed him poor; but a man who at least had a right to his NAME! I didn't give it to Mr. Stanley G. Fulton, spy, trickster, who makes life itself a masquerade for SPORT! I do not know Mr. Stanley G. Fulton, and—I do not wish to." The words ended in a sound very like a sob; but Miss Maggie, with her head still high, turned her back and walked to the window.

The man, apparently stunned for a moment, stood watching her, his eyes grieved, dismayed, hopeless. Then, white-faced, he turned and walked toward the door. With his hand almost on the knob he slowly wheeled about and faced the woman again. He hesitated visibly, then in a dull, lifeless voice he began to speak.

"Miss Maggie, before John Smith steps entirely out of your life, he would like to say just this, please, not on justification, but in explanation of—of Stanley G. Fulton. Fulton did not intend to be a spy, or a trickster, or to make life a masquerade for—sport. He was a lonely old man—he felt old. He had no wife or child. True, he had no one to care for, but—he had no one to care for HIM, either. Remember that, please. He did have a great deal of money—more than he knew what to do with. Oh, he tried—various ways of spending it. Never mind what they were. They are not worth speaking of here. They resulted, chiefly, in showing him that he wasn't—as wise as he might be in that line, perhaps."

The man paused and wet his lips. At the window Miss Maggie still stood, with her back turned as before.

"The time came, finally," resumed the man, "when Fulton began to wonder what would become of his millions when he was done with them. He had a feeling that he would like to will a good share of them to some of his own kin; but he had no nearer relatives than some cousins back East, in—Hillerton."