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 she was racing up three winding, dizzy flights of stairs in a ponderous, old-fashioned office build- ing.

Before a door marked &quot; Andrew Bernard, Attor- ney at Law," she stopped and waited a frightened moment for breath and courage. As though the pounding of her heart had really sounded as loud as it felt, the door handle turned abruptly, and a very tall, broad-shouldered, grave-faced young man greeted her with attractive astonishment.

"Good morning, Drew," she began politely. "Why, I have n t seen you for a year." Then, with alarming vehemence, she finished: "Are you all alone? I want to talk with you."

Her breathlessness, her embarrassment, her fra- gile intensity sobered the young man instantly as he led her into his private office and stood for a moment staring inquiringly into her white face. Her mouth was just as he had last seen it a year ago, fresh and whimsical and virginal as a child's ; but her eyes were scorched and dazed like the eyes of a ship wreck survivor or any other person who has been forced unexpectedly to stare upon life's big emotions with the naked eye.

"I hear you'Ve been ill this spring," he began gently."If you wanted to talk with me, Ruthy, why did n t you let me come out to the house and see you? Would n t it have been easier?"