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 furtive for Henry to discern it. "What sort of resolutions?" she inquired interestedly.

But Harrington was flustered and evasive, wondering why on earth he had said this to her at all. "Oh, just the usual kind," he hedged.

"Oh, not to smoke or drink or play poker, I suppose."

"Oh, no, believe me," pleaded Henry, and smiled wretchedly, seeing now that he would have to muddle through. "Just the usual thing for a caseless lawyer who sort of wakes up. Resolved to make more money for one thing, but resolved to hold fast to the—the spiritual element in my profession at the same time."

Miss Boland honored these avowals with an appreciative glance; yet chose to reflect upon his stammering distress in silence.

Harrington, too, was silent. Why was he making such an ass of himself about what had seemed such a perfectly rational and normal thing to do? Why did this gir] so thrill him and at the same time throw him off his stride? He was angry with himself and desperate. He didn't propose to remain thus ill at ease with anybody.

"Miss Boland," he demanded, as if she might hold the key, "what makes me so foolish, babbling this stuff to you?"

"Foolish?" The blue eyes threw him a glance of the gentlest reproof, utterly demolishing. "It seems very fine to me—as far as I understand it."

The young man gazed quite rapt. Hers was an angel face, an angel voice; he was beside himself, out of himself!

"Miss Boland?" he inquired in a startled tone, his