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 fident emphasis of his tones it would have hoisted the square white signal, and nailed it to the mast.

“To them that has the heart to enjoy it, it is, Mr. Donovan,” said Miss Conway, with a sigh.

Mr. Donovan, in his heart, cursed fair weather. Heartless weather! It should hail and blow and snow to be consonant with the mood of Miss Conway.

“I hope none of your relatives—I hope you haven’t sustained a loss?? ventured Mr. Donovan.

“Death has claimed,” said Miss Conway, hesitating—“not a relative, but one who—but I will not intrude my grief upon you, Mr. Donovan.”

‘‘Intrude?” protested Mr. Donovan. “Why, say, Miss Conway, I’d be delighted, that is, I’d be sorry—I mean I’m sure nobody could sympathize with you truer than I would.”

Miss Conway smiled a little smile. And oh, it was sadder than her expression in repose.

“‘Laugh, and the world laughs with you; weep, and they give you the laugh,’” she quoted.

“I have learned that, Mr. Donovan. I have no friends or acquaintances in this city. But you have been kind to me. I appreciate it highly.”

He had passed her the pepper twice at the table.

“It’s tough to be alone in New York—that’s a cinch,” said Mr. Donovan. “But, say—whenever this little old town does loosen up and get friendly it goes the limit. Say you took a little stroll in the