case, McKnight's first words showed our parallel lines of thought.
"I say, Lollie," he asked, "do you remember Dorothy Browne?" Browne, that was it!
"Dorothy Browne?" I repeated. "Oh—why yes, I recall her now. Why?"
"Nothing," he said. "I was thinking about her. That's all. You remember you were crazy about her, and dropped back because she preferred me?"
"I got out," I said with dignity, "because you declared you would shoot yourself if she didn't go with you to something or other!"
"Oh, why yes, I recall now!" he mimicked. He tossed his cigarette in the general direction of the hearth and got up. We were both a little conscious, and he stood with his back to me, fingering a Japanese vase on the mantel.
"I was thinking," he began, turning the vase around, "that, if you feel pretty well again, and—and ready to take hold, that I should like to go away for a week or so. Things are fairly well cleaned up at the office."
"Do you mean—you are going to Rich-
