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Miss Maggie at the window drew in her breath, and held it suspended, letting it out slowly.

"He didn't know anything about these cousins," went on the man dully, wearily, "and he got to wondering what they would do with the money. I think he felt, as you said to-day that you feel, that one must know how to spend five dollars if one would get the best out of five thousand. So Fulton felt that, before he gave a man fifteen or twenty millions, he would like to know—what he would probably do with them. He had seen so many cases where sudden great wealth had brought—great sorrow.

"And so then he fixed up a little scheme; he would give each one of these three cousins of his a hundred thousand dollars apiece, and then, unknown to them, he would get acquainted with them, and see which of them would be likely to make the best use of those twenty millions. It was a silly scheme, of course,—a silly, absurd foolishness from beginning to end. It—"

He did not finish his sentence. There was a rush of swift feet, a swish of skirts, then full upon him there fell a whirlwind of sobs, clinging arms, and incoherent ejaculations.

"It wasn't silly—it wasn't silly. It was perfectly splendid! I see it all now. I see it all! I understand. Oh, I think it was—WONDERFUL! And I—I'm so ASHAMED!"

Later—very much later, when something like lucid coherence had become an attribute of their conversation, as they sat together upon the old sofa, the man drew a long breath and said:—

"Then I'm quite forgiven?"

"There is nothing to forgive."

"And you consider yourself engaged to BOTH John Smith and Stanley G.

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"It sounds pretty bad, but—yes," blushed Miss Maggie.

"And you must love Stanley G. Fulton just exactly as well—no, a little better, than you did John Smith."

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"I'll—try to—if he's as lovable." Miss Maggie's head was at a saucy tilt.

"He'll try to be; but—it won't be all play, you know, for you. You've got to tell him what to do with those twenty millions. By the way, what WILL you do with them?" he demanded interestedly.

Miss Maggie looked up, plainly startled.

"Why, yes, that's so. You—you—if you're Mr. Fulton, you HAVE got—And

I forgot all about—those twenty millions. And they're YOURS, Mr.

"No, they're not Mr. Smith's," objected the man. "They belong to Fulton, if you please. Furthermore, CAN'T you call me anything but that abominable 'Mr. Smith'? My name is Stanley. You might—er—abbreviate it to—er—' Stan,' now."

"Perhaps so—but I shan't," laughed Miss Maggie,—"not yet. You may be thankful I have wits enough left to call you anything—after becoming engaged to two men all at once."

"And with having the responsibility of spending twenty millions, too."