One would scarcely have supposed that Archibald McBride, silent, taciturn, money-loving, possessed the taste for scandal that North knew he did possess.  The old merchant continued garrulously.

“They are a bad lot, John, those Langhams, but it took the smartest one of the whole tribe to get the better of me.  I never told you that before, did I?  It was old Marshall himself, and he flattered me into loaning him a matter of a hundred dollars once; I guess I have his note somewhere yet.  But I swore then I’d have no more dealings with any of them, and I’m likely to keep my word as long as I keep my senses.  It’s the little things that prick the skin; that make a man bitter.  I suppose the judge’s boy has had his hand in your pocket?  He looks like a man who’d be free enough with another’s purse.”

But North shook his head.

“No, no, I have only myself to blame,” he said.

“What do you hear of his wife?  How’s the marriage turning out?” and he shot the young fellow a shrewd questioning glance.

“I know nothing about it,” replied North, coloring slightly.

“She’ll hardly be publishing to the world that she’s married a drunken profligate—­”

This did not seem to North to call for an answer, and he attempted none.  He turned and moved toward the front of the store, followed by the old merchant.  At the door he paused.

“Thank you for your kindness, Mr. McBride!”

“It was no kindness, just a matter of business” said McBride hastily.  “I’m no philanthropist, John, but just a plain man of business who’ll drive a close bargain if he can.”

“At any rate, I’m going to thank you,” insisted North, smiling pleasantly.  “Good-by,” and he extended his hand, which the old merchant took.

“Good-by, and good luck to you, John, and you might drop me a line now and then just to say how you get on.”

“I will.  Good-by!”

“I know you’ll succeed, John.  A bit of application, a bit of necessity to spur you on, and we’ll be proud of you yet!”

North laughed as he opened the door and stepped out; and Archibald McBride, looking through his dingy show-windows, watched him until he disappeared down the street; then he turned and reentered his office.

Meanwhile North hurried away with the remnant of his little fortune in his pocket.  Five minutes’ walk brought him to the building that had sheltered him for the last few years.  He climbed the stairs and entered the long hail above.  He paused, key in hand, before his door, when he heard behind him a light footfall on the uncarpeted floor and the swish of a woman’s skirts.  As he turned abruptly, the woman who had evidently followed him up from the street, came swiftly down the hall toward him.

“Jack!” she said, when she was quite near.

The short winter’s day had brought an early twilight to the place, and the woman was closely veiled, but the moment she spoke North recognized her, for there was something in the mellow full-throated quality of her speech which belonged only to one voice that he knew.