Langdon winced.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Langdon.  You owe me two thousand now, not counting that poker debt.  We’ll call it square if you’ll attend to a little matter for me and I’ll give you an extra thou. to make it worth your while.”

“You know I am always delighted to help you, Sandy.”

“When I make it worth your while.”

“Put it that way if you wish.”

“Do you think that for once in your life you could look less like the devil than you are naturally, and act the role of parson?”

“I might if I associate with you long enough.  Saintly company might change my expression.”

“You won’t have time to try.  You’ve got to have your clerical look in good working order by Friday.  Incidently you are to marry me to the prettiest girl in Massachusetts and keep your mouth closed.”

As if to end the discussion, Sanderson strode over to his desk and wrote out a check for a thousand dollars.  He came back, waving it in the air to dry the ink.

“Perhaps you will condescend to explain,” Langdon said, as he pocketed the check.

“Explanations are always bores, my dear boy.  There is a little girl who feels obliged to insist on formalities, not too many.  She’ll think your acting as the parson the best joke in the world, but it would not do to chaff her about it.”

“Oh, I see,” and Langdon’s laugh was not pleasant.

“Exactly.  You will have everything ready—­white choker, black coat and all the rest of it, and now, my dear boy, you’ve got to excuse me as I’ve got a lot of work on hand.”

They shook hands and Langdon’s footsteps were soon echoing down the corridor.

The foul insinuation that Sanderson had just made about Anna rankled in his mind.  He went to the sideboard and poured himself out a good stiff drink.  After that, his conscience did not trouble him.

The work on account of which he excused himself from Langdon’s society, was apparently not of the most pressing order, for Sanderson almost immediately started for Boston, turning his steps towards Mrs. Standish Tremont’s.

“Mrs. Tremont was not at home,” the man announced at the door, “and Mrs. Endicott was confined to her room with a bad headache.  Should he take his card to Miss Moore?”

Sanderson assented, feeling that fate was with him.

“My darling,” he said, as Anna came in a moment later, and folded her close in a long embrace.  She was paler than when he had last seen her and there were dark rings under her eyes that hinted at long night vigils.

“Lennox,” she said, “do not think me weak, but I am terribly frightened.  It does not seem as if we were doing the right thing by our friends.”

“Goosey girl,” he said, kissing her, “who was it that said no marriage ever suited all parties unconcerned?”

She laughed.  “I am thinking more of you Lennox, than of myself.  Suppose your father should not forgive you, cut you off without a cent, and you should have to drudge all your life with mother and me on your hands!  Don’t you think you would wish we had never met, or, at least, that I had thought of these things?”