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sat at his breakfast table.

After several hours of thinking, wondering, planning and sorrowing, he had been blessed with a short respite of fitful slumber, and now, though still in a state of mental chaos, he was outwardly composed.

He was relieved that Mother Selden had not joined him in the breakfast room, though she had sent him some messages. It was her custom to breakfast in bed, but he feared she would change her plan for to-day, and when she did not, he was glad. One of his problems was what to do about her continued presence under his roof.

He could not summarily dismiss Madeleine’s mother, as one would a servant, yet he couldn’t face years of solitude à deux with the unamiable lady. However, that was a future consideration—there were many more pressing.

“Hello, Drew—here I am—I just had to come! May I?”

Nick Nelson came into the room, pushing past the waitress, and grasping Barham’s hand.

Words of sympathy were unnecessary between these two friends, and Barham accepted the unspoken message he read in Nelson’s eyes.

“All in the papers?” Barham asked. “I haven’t seen them.”

“Yes; but I suppose garbled versions. Now, Drew, I’m here to help. Command me in any way you like. My time is all yours—and I needn’t tell you everything else I own is.”