off the prize; and virtue had apparently as little to do with the matter as fair hair or a club foot.  If Janet had ever read Darwin, she would have recognized in her lover a creature rather wonderfully adapted to his environment; and what puzzled her, perhaps, was the riddle that presents itself to many better informed than herself—­the utter absence in this environment of the sign of any being who might be called God.  Her perplexities—­for she did have them—­took the form of an instinctive sense of inadequacy, of persistently recurring though inarticulate convictions of the existence of elements not included in Ditmar’s categories—­of things that money could not buy; of things, too, alas! that poverty was as powerless to grasp.  Stored within her, sometimes rising to the level of consciousness, was that experience at Silliston in the May weather when she had had a glimpse—­just a glimpse! of a garden where strange and precious flowers were in bloom.  On the other hand, this mysterious perception by her of things unseen and hitherto unguessed, of rays of delight in the spectrum of values to which his senses were unattuned, was for Ditmar the supreme essence of her fascination.  At moments he was at once bewildered and inebriated by the rare delicacy of fabric of the woman whom he had somehow stumbled upon and possessed.

Then there were the hours when they worked together in the office.  Here she beheld Ditmar at his best.  It cannot be said that his infatuation for her was ever absent from his consciousness:  he knew she was there beside him, he betrayed it continually.  But here she was in the presence of what had been and what remained his ideal, the Chippering Mill; here he acquired unity.  All his energies were bent toward the successful execution of the Bradlaugh order, which had to be completed on the first of February.  And as day after day went by her realization of the magnitude of the task he had undertaken became keener.  Excitement was in the air.  Ditmar seemed somehow to have managed to infuse not only Orcutt, the superintendent, but the foremen and second hands and even the workers with a common spirit of pride and loyalty, of interest, of determination to carry off this matter triumphantly.  The mill seemed fairly to hum with effort.  Janet’s increasing knowledge of its organization and processes only served to heighten her admiration for the confidence Ditmar had shown from the beginning.  It was superb.  And now, as the probability of the successful execution of the task tended more and more toward certainty, he sometimes gave vent to his boyish, exuberant spirits.

“I told Holster, I told all those croakers I’d do it, and by thunder I will do it, with three days’ margin, too!  I’ll get the last shipment off on the twenty-eighth of January.  Why, even George Chippering was afraid I couldn’t handle it.  If the old man was alive he wouldn’t have had cold feet.”  Then Ditmar added, half jocularly, half seriously, looking down on her as she sat with her note-book, waiting for him to go on with his dictation:  “I guess you’ve had your share in it, too.  You’ve been a wonder, the way you’ve caught on and taken things off my shoulders.  If Orcutt died I believe you could step right into his shoes.”