The only moment of regret that he suffered was when one day, when things first began to look badly, he met Linburne and another man in Wall Street, and there was something subtly insulting and triumphant in the former’s manner of condoling with him about the situation.

Rumors of it reached Christine.  She liked the picture of Riatt’s courage and calm, and hated the danger of his losing money.

“You’re not risking too much, are you, Max?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t you enjoy love in a cottage, Christine?” he answered.

She tried to make it clear to him how little such a prospect would tempt her, and gathered from the fact that he hardly listened to her reply that he felt confident there was no real danger.

With the success of the revolution, Riatt realized that his holiday was over, that he must tell Christine the truth and then retire to his old home and begin a new method of life on his decreased income.

It was now early April—­a warm advanced spring—­when he decided that the next day should see the end of his little drama.  But, as we all know, it sometimes happens that those who set a mine are the most startled by the explosion; and Riatt, at an early breakfast (for he and Christine were going into the country for the day), with a mind occupied with the phrases in which he should bid her good-by and eyes lazily reading the newspaper, was suddenly startled beyond words by a short paragraph on the financial page.  This stated in the baldest terms the failure of his brokers at home.

There was no country expedition for Riatt that day.  He rushed down-town, leaving a short message for Christine, and by night he knew the worst, knew that the liabilities of the firm far exceeded any possible assets, knew positively that the comfortable sum he had intended to preserve for himself had been swept away, knew that he now really had to begin life over.

That night when he came back to his hotel, he understood for the first time that he had throughout been cherishing an unrecognized hope; that he had not been honest with himself, and that all the time beneath his great scheme had lain the belief that when the truth was known Christine would prefer him and his moderate income to Linburne and his wealth; that, in short, the great scheme had been all the time not a method of freeing himself, but a test of her affection.

Now any such possibility was over.  Now he himself was facing the problem of mere existence—­at least he would be as soon as he had collected his wits enough to face anything.

The next day, which was Sunday, he spent entirely with his lawyer.  When he came back to his hotel, between the entrance and the elevator a figure rose in his path.  It was Hickson.

“Riatt, I’m awfully sorry about this,” he said.