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 CHAPTER XVIII.

TIMELY WARNING.

Robert sat in his studio, when presently the door opened.

"My dear Latham," cried the artist.

"Well, Milburn, how are you?"

They were, at last, alone together. Involuntarily, and as if by an irresistible impulse, Marrion began at once:

"Robert, I must speak to you on a delicate subject. You are my friend, a man for whose interests I would all but give up my life," and his mission flashed across the other's mind.

"What are you driving at?"

"At the question whether or not you will stop to think."

"I most frequently stop and forget," was the good-natured reply.

"That is too true; you surely do not realize how you have behaved the past few months."

"Well, and what of it? I should like to know whom I have hurt besides myself."

"Everyone who cares for you."