took possession of Randolph’s romantic fancy.  It was pleasant to think that the patron of his own fortunes might be in some mysterious way the custodian of hers.  The money was placed to her credit—­a liberal sum for a girl so young.  The large house in which she lived was sufficient to prove to the optimistic Randolph that this income was something personal and distinct from her family.  That his unknown benefactor was in the habit of mysteriously rewarding deserving merit after the fashion of a marine fairy godmother, I fear did not strike him as being ridiculous.

But an unfortunate query in that direction, addressed to a cynical fellow clerk, who had the exhaustive experience with the immature mustaches of twenty-three, elicited a reply which shocked him.  To his indignant protest the young man continued:—­

“Look here; a girl like that who draws money regularly from some man who doesn’t show up by name, who comes for it herself, and hasn’t any address, and calls herself ’Avondale’—­only an innocent from Dutch Flat, like you, would swallow.”

“Impossible,” said Randolph indignantly.  “Anybody could see she’s a lady by her dress and bearing.”

“Dress and bearing!” echoed the clerk, with the derision of blase youth.  “If that’s your test, you ought to see Florry ——.”

But here one may safely leave the young gentleman as abruptly as Randolph did.  Yet a drop of this corrosive criticism irritated his sensitiveness, and it was not until he recalled his last meeting with her and her innocent escort that he was himself again.  Fortunately, he did not relate it to the critic, who would in all probability have added a precocious motherhood to the young lady’s possible qualities.

He could now only look forward to her reappearance at the bank, and here he was destined to a more serious disappointment.  For when she made her customary appearance at the counter, he noticed a certain businesslike gravity in the paying teller’s reception of her, and that he was consulting a small register before him instead of handing her the usual receipt form.  “Perhaps you are unaware, Miss Avondale, that your account is overdrawn,” Randolph distinctly heard him say, although in a politely lowered voice.

The young girl stopped in taking off her glove; her delicate face expressed her wonder, and paled slightly; she cast a quick and apparently involuntary glance in the direction of Randolph, but said quietly,—­

“I don’t think I understand.”

“I thought you did not—­ladies so seldom do,” continued the paying teller suavely.  “But there are no funds to your credit.  Has not your banker or correspondent advised you?”

The girl evidently did not comprehend.  “I have no correspondent or banker,” she said.  “I mean—­I have heard nothing.”

“The original credit was opened from Callao,” continued the official, “but since then it has been added to by drafts from Melbourne.  There may be one nearly due now.”