The Flirt ..............................................................................................................................................................1

Booth Tarkington .....................................................................................................................................1

Valentine Corliss walked up Corliss Street the hottest afternoon of that hot August, a year ago, wearing a suit

of white serge which attracted a little attention from those observers who were able to observe anything

except the heat. The coat was shaped delicately; it outlined the wearer, and, fitting him as women's clothes fit

women, suggested an effeminacy not an attribute of the tall Corliss. The effeminacy belonged all to the tailor,

an artist plying far from Corliss Street, for the coat would have encountered a hundred of its fellows at

Trouville or Ostende this very day. Corliss Street is the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, the Park Lane, the

Fifth Avenue, of Capitol City, that smoky illuminant of our great central levels, but although it esteems itself

an established cosmopolitan thoroughfare, it is still provincial enough to be watchful; and even in its torrid

Mr. Corliss, treading for the first time in seventeen years the pavements of this namesake of his grandfather,

mildly repaid its interest in himself. The street, once the most peaceful in the world, he thought, had changed.

It was still long and straight, still shaded by trees so noble that they were betrothed, here and there, high over

the wide white roadway, the shimmering tunnels thus contrived shot with gold and blue; but its pristine

complete restfulness was departed: gasoline had arrived, and a pedestrian, even this August day of heat, must

Architectural transformations, as vital, staggered the returned native. In his boyhood that posthumously

libelled sovereign lady, Anne, had terribly prevailed among the dwellings on this highway; now, however,

there was little left of the jigsaw's harebrained ministrations; but the growing pains of the adolescent city

had wrought some madness here. There had been a revolution which was a riot; and, plainly incited by a new

outbreak of the colonies, the Goth, the Tudor, and the Tuscan had harried the upper reaches to a turmoil

Yet it was a pleasant street in spite of its improvements; in spite, too, of a long, gray smokeplume crossing

the summer sky and dropping an occasional atomy of coal upon Mr. Corliss's white coat. The green

continuous masses of treefoliage, lawn, and shrubbery were splendidly asserted; there was a faint

wholesome odour from the fine block pavement of the roadway, white, save where the snailish waterwagon

laid its long strips of steaming brown. Locusts, serenaders of the heat, invisible among the branches, rasped

their interminable cadences, competing bitterly with the monotonous chattering of lawnmowers propelled

by glistening black men over the level swards beneath. And though porch and terrace were left to vacant

wicker chairs and swingingseats, and to flowers and plants in jars and green boxes, and the people sat

unseen and, it might be guessed, unclad for exhibition, in the dimmer recesses of their houses

nevertheless, a summery girl under an alluring parasol now and then prettily trod the sidewalks, and did not

altogether suppress an ample consciousness of the white pedestrian's stalwart grace; nor was his quick glance

too distressingly modest to be aware of these faint but attractive perturbations.

A few of the oldest houses remained as he remembered them, and there were two or three relics of mansard

and cupola days; but the herd of castiron deer that once guarded these lawns, standing sentinel to all true

gentry: Whither were they fled? In his boyhood, one specimen betokened a family of position and affluence;

two, one on each side of the front walk, spoke of a noble opulence; two and a fountain were overwhelming.

He wondered in what obscure thickets that once proud herd now grazed; and then he smiled, as through a

leafy opening of shrubbery he caught a glimpse of a last survivor, still loyally alert, the haughty head thrown

back in everlasting challenge and one foreleg lifted, standing in a vast and shadowy backyard with a

Mr. Corliss remembered that backyard very well: it was an old battlefield whereon he had conquered; and he

wondered if "the Lindley boys" still lived there, and if Richard Lindley would hate him now as implacably as

A hundred yards farther on, he paused before a house more familiar to him than any other, and gave it a

It was a shabby old brick structure, and it stood among the gayest, the most flamboyant dwellings of all

Corliss Street like a bewildered tramp surrounded by carnival maskers. It held place full in the course of the

fury for demolition and rebuilding, but remained unaltered even unrepaired, one might have thought

since the early seventies, when it was built. There was a sagging cornice, and the nauseous brown which the

walls had years ago been painted was sooted to a repellent dinge, so cracked and peeled that the haggard red

bricks were exposed, like a beggar through the holes in his coat. It was one of those houses which are large

without being commodious; its very tall, very narrow windows, with their attenuated, rusty inside shutters,

boasting to the passerby of high ceilings but betraying the miserly floor spaces. At each side of the front door

was a high and cramped baywindow, one of them insanely culminating in a little sixsided tower of slate,

and both of them girdled above the basement windows by a narrow porch, which ran across the front of the

house and gave access to the shallow vestibule. However, a pleasant circumstance modified the gloom of this

edifice and assured it a remnant of reserve and dignity in its illconsidered old age: it stood back a fine

of maple trees and one glorious elm, hoary, robust, and majestic, a veteran of the days when this was forest

Mr. Corliss concluded his momentary pause by walking up the broken cement path, which was hard beset by

plantainweed and the long grass of the illkept lawn. Ascending the steps, he was assailed by an odour as of

vehement bananas, a diffusion from some painful little chairs standing in the long, high, dim, rather sorrowful

hall disclosed beyond the open double doors. They were stiff little chairs of an inconsequent, mongrel

pattern; armless, with perforated wooden seats; legs tortured by the lathe to a semblance of buttons strung on

a rod; and they had that day received a streaky coat of a gilding preparation which exhaled the olfactory

vehemence mentioned. Their present station was temporary, their purpose, as obviously, to dry; and they

were doing some incidental gilding on their own account, leaving blots and splashes and sporadic little round

The oldfashioned brass bellhandle upon the caller's right drooped from its socket in a dead fag, but after

comprehensive manipulation on the part of the young man, and equal complaint on its own, it was

constrained to permit a dim tinkle remotely. Somewhere in the interior a woman's voice, not young, sang a

repeated fragment of "Lead, Kindly Light," to the accompaniment of a flapping dustcloth, sounds which

ceased upon a second successful encounter with the bell. Ensued a silence, probably to be interpreted as a

period of whispered consultation out of range; a younger voice called softly and urgently, "Laura!" and a

darkeyed, darkhaired girl of something over twenty made her appearance to Mr. Corliss.

At sight of her he instantly restored a thin gold cardcase to the pocket whence he was in the act of removing

it. She looked at him with only grave, impersonal inquiry; no appreciative invoice of him was to be detected

in her quiet eyes, which may have surprised him, possibly the more because he was aware there was plenty of

appreciation in his own kindling glance. She was very white and black, this lady. Tall, trim, clear, she looked

cool in spite of the black winter skirt she wore, an effect helped somewhat, perhaps, by the crisp freshness of

her white waist, with its masculine collar and slim black tie, and undoubtedly by the even and lustreless light

ivory of her skin, against which the strong black eyebrows and undulated black hair were lined with attractive

precision; but, most of all, that coolness was the emanation of her undisturbed and tranquil eyes. They were

not phlegmatic: a continuing spark glowed far within them, not ardently, but steadily and inscrutably, like the

Mr. Valentine Corliss, of Paris and Naples, removed his whiteribboned straw hat and bowed as no one had

ever bowed in that doorway. This most vivid salutation accomplished by adding something to a rather

quick inclination of the body from the hips, with the back and neck held straight expressed deference without

affecting or inviting cordiality. It was an elaborate little formality of a kind fancifully called "foreign," and

"He is at home." She indicated an open doorway upon her right. "Will you wait in there?"

"Thank you," said Mr. Corliss, passing within. "I shall be " He left the sentence unfinished, for he was

already alone, and at liberty to reflect upon the extraordinary coolness of this cool young woman.

The room, with its closed blinds, was soothingly dark after the riotous sun without, a grateful obscurity which

was one of two attractions discovered in it by Mr. Corliss while he waited. It was a depressing little chamber,

disproportionately high, uncheered by seven chairs (each of a different family, but all belonging to the same

knobby species, and all upholstered a repellent blue), a scratched "inlaid table," likewise knobby, and a

dangerous looking small sofa turbulent furniture, warmly harmonious, however, in a common challenge

to the visitor to take comfort in any of it. A oncegilt gas chandelier hung from the distant ceiling, with three

globes of frosted glass, but undeniable evidence that five were intended; and two of the three had been

severely bitten. There was a hostile little coalgrate, making a mouth under a mantel of imitation black

marble, behind an old bluesatin firescreen upon which red cattails and an owl over a pond had been

roughly embroidered in high relief, this owl motive being the inspiration of innumerable other owls reflected

in innumerable other ponds in the formerly silver moonlight with which the walls were papered. Corliss

thought he remembered that in his boyhood, when it was known as "the parlour" (though he guessed that the

Madison family called it "the reception room," now) this was the place where his aunt received callers who,

she justifiably hoped, would not linger. Altogether, it struck him that it might be a good testroom for an

There was one incongruity which surprised him a wicker wastepaper basket, so nonsensically out of

place in this arid cell, where not the wildest harebrain could picture any one coming to read or write, that he

bestowed upon it a particular, frowning attention, and so discovered the second attractive possession of the

room. A fresh and lovely pink rose, just opening full from the bud, lay in the bottom of the basket.

There was a rustling somewhere in the house and a murmur, above which a boy's voice became audible in

emphatic but undistinguishable complaint. A whispering followed, and a woman exclaimed protestingly,

"Cora!" And then a startlingly pretty girl came carelessly into the room through the open door.

She was humming "Quand l' Amour Meurt" in a gay preoccupation, and evidently sought something upon the

table in the centre of the room, for she continued her progress toward it several steps before realizing the

presence of a visitor. She was a year or so younger than the girl who had admitted him, fairer and obviously

more plastic, more expressive, more perishable, a great deal more insistently feminine; though it was to be

seen that they were sisters. This one had eyes almost as dark as the other's, but these were not cool; they were

sweet, unrestful, and seeking; brilliant with a vivacious hunger: and not Diana but huntresses more ardent

have such eyes. Her hair was much lighter than her sister's; it was the colour of dry cornsilk in the sun; and

she was the shorter by a head, rounder everywhere and not so slender; but no dumpling: she was exquisitely

made. There was a softness about her: something of velvet, nothing of mush. She diffused with her entrance a

radiance of gayety and of gentleness; sunlight ran with her. She seemed the incarnation of a caressing smile.

She was pointdevice. Her close, white skirt hung from a plainly embroidered white waist to a silken instep;

and from the crown of her charming head to the tall heels of her graceful white suede slippers, heels of a

sweeter curve than the waist of a violin, she was as modern and lovely as this dingy old house was belated

Mr. Valentine Corliss spared the fraction of a second for another glance at the rose in the wastebasket.

The girl saw him before she reached the table, gave a little gasp of surprise, and halted with one hand carried

"Oh!" she said impulsively; "I beg your pardon. I didn't know there was I was looking for a book I

She stopped, whelmed with a breathtaking shyness, her eyes, after one quick but condensed encounter with

those of Mr. Corliss, falling beneath exquisite lashes. Her voice was one to stir all men: it needs not many

words for a supremely beautiful "speakingvoice" to be recognized for what it is; and this girl's was like

herself, hauntingly lovely. The intelligent young man immediately realized that no one who heard it could

"Is there?" She paused, hesitating at the door, looking at him over her shoulder uncertainly.

"You dropped this rose." He lifted the rose from the wastebasket and repeated the bow he had made at the

"Yes it does. How curious!" she said slowly. "How curious it happened to be there!" She stepped to take it

from him, her eyes upon his in charming astonishment. "And how odd that " She stopped; then said

Her expression of surprise was instantaneously merged in a flash of honest pleasure and admiration, such as

only an artist may feel in the presence of a little masterpiece by a fellowcraftsman.

Happily, anticlimax was spared them by the arrival of the person for whom the visitor had asked at the door,

Mr. Madison, a shapeless hillock with a large, harassed, red face, evidently suffered from the heat: his gray

hair was rumpled back from a damp forehead; the sleeves of his black alpaca coat were pulled up to the

elbow above his uncuffed white shirtsleeves; and he carried in one mottled hand the ruins of a palmleaf fan,

in the other a balled wet handkerchief which released an aroma of camphor upon the bananaburdened air.

He bore evidences of inadequate adjustment after a disturbed siesta, but, exercising a mechanical cordiality,

preceded himself into the room by a genial halfcough and a hearty, "Wellwellwell," as if wishing to

"I expected you might be turning up, after your letter," he said, shaking hands. "Well, well, well! I remember

you as a boy. Wouldn't have known you, of course; but I expect you'll find the town about as much changed

With a father's blindness to all that is really vital, he concluded his greeting inconsequently: "Oh, this is my

His little girl's radiant glance at the alert visitor imparted her thorough comprehension of all the old man's

absurdities, which had reached their climax in her dismissal. Her parting look, falling from Corliss's face to

the wastebasket at his feet, just touched the rose in his hand as she passed through the door.

Cora paused in the hall at a point about twenty feet from the door, a girlish stratagem frequently of surprising

advantage to the practitioner; but the two men had begun to speak of the weather. Suffering a momentary

disappointment, she went on, stepping silently, and passed through a door at the end of the hall into a large

and barren looking diningroom, stiffly and skimpily furnished, but welllighted, owing to the fact that one

end of it had been transformed into a narrow "conservatory," a glass alcove now tenanted by two dried palms

Here her sister sat by an open window, repairing masculine underwear; and a handsome, shabby, dirty boy of

about thirteen sprawled on the floor of the "conservatory" unloosing upon its innocent, cracked, old black and

white tiles a ghastly family of snakes, owls, and visaged crescent moons, in orange, green, and other

loathsome chalks. As Cora entered from the hall, a woman of fifty came in at a door opposite, and, a

dustcloth retained under her left arm, an unsheathed weapon ready for emergency, leaned sociably against

the doorcasing and continued to polish a tablespoon with a bit of powdered chamoisskin. She was tall and

slightly bent; and, like the flat, old, silver spoon in her hand, seemed to have been worn thin by use; yet it was

plain that the three young people in the room "got their looks" from her. Her eyes, if tired, were tolerant and

"Why don't you ask Coralie?" suggested the sprawling artist, relaxing his hideous labour. He pronounced his

sister's name with intense bitterness. He called it "Coralee," with an implication far from subtle that his

sister had at some time thus Gallicized herself, presumably for masculine favour; and he was pleased to

"I ask Laura because it was Laura who went to the door, "Mrs. Madison answered. "I do not ask Cora because

"`Cora hasn't seen him!'" the boy hooted mockingly. "She hasn't? She was peeking out of the library shutters

when he came up the front walk, and she wouldn't let me go to the door; she told Laura to go, but first she

"Those roses," said Cora sharply. "He will hang around the neighbours' stables. I think you ought to do

"Them roses!" repeated Hedrick fiercely. "One o' them roses Dick Lindley sent her this morning. Laid it in

the wastebasket and sneaked it into the reception room for an excuse to go galloping in and "

"It was a pretty bum excuse," continued the unaffected youth, "but you bet your life you'll never beat our

Coralee when there's a person in pants on the premises! It's sickening." He rose, and performed something

like a toedance, a supposed imitation of his sister's mincing approach to the visitor. "Oh, dear, I am such a

Tennyson and thinking to myself about such lovely things, and walking around looking for my nice, pretty

rose. Where can it be? Oh heavens, Mister, are you here? Oh my, I never, never thought that there was a man

here! How you frighten me! See what a shy little thing I am? You do see, don't you, old sweeticums? Ta, ta,

here's papa. Remember me by that rose, 'cause it's just like me. Me and it's twins, you see, cutiesugar!" The

diabolical boy then concluded with a reversion to the severity of his own manner: "If she was my daughter I'd

His indignation was left in the air, for the three ladies had instinctively united against him, treacherously

including his private feud in the sexwar of the ages: Cora jumped lightly upon the table and sat whistling

and polishing the nails of one hand upon the palm of another; Laura continued to sew without looking up, and

Mrs. Madison, conquering a tendency to laugh, preserved a serene countenance and said ruminatively:

Hedrick stared incredulously, baffled; but men must expect these things, and this was no doubt a helpful item

"I wish he would. Anything that would make father get out of it!" Cora exclaimed. "I hope Mr. Corliss will

Her mother gave her a quick, odd look, in which there was a real alarm. "What is he like, Cora?"

This brought Hedrick to confront her with a leap as of some wild animal under a lash. He landed close to her;

"Princely, I should call him," said Cora, her enthusiasm undaunted. "Distinctly princely!"

"Hedrick!" Mrs. Madison reproved him automatically. "In what way is he `foreign,' Cora?"

"Oh, every way." Cora let her glance rest dreamily upon the goaded boy. "He has a splendid head set upon a

"Tall, a glorious figure like a young guardsman's." Madness was gathering in her brother's eyes; and

observing it with quiet pleasure, she added: "One sees immediately he has the grand manner, the bel air."

Hedrick exploded. "`Bel air'!" he screamed, and began to jump up and down, tossing his arms frantically, and

gasping with emotion. "Oh, bel air! Oh, blah! `Henry Esmond!' Been readin' `Henry Esmond!' Oh, you

beyootiful CoraBeatrixalee! Magganifisent torso! Gullorious figgiyour! Bel air! Oh, slush! Oh,

luvaly slush!" He cast himself convulsively upon the floor, full length. "Luvaly, luvaly slush!"

"He is thirty, I should say," continued Cora, thoughtfully. "Yes about thirty. A strong, keen face, rather

Hedrick raised himself to the attitude of the "Dying Gaul." "And with `hair slightly silvered at the temples!'

Ain't his hair slightly silvered at the temples?" he cried imploringly. "Oh, sister, in pity's name let his hair be

slightly silvered at the temples? Only three grains of corn, your Grace; my children are starving!"

"He has rather wonderful eyes," said Cora. "They seem to look right through you."

"And he wears his clothes so well so differently! You feel at once that he's not a person, but a personage."

Hedrick sat up, his eyes closed, his features contorted as with agony, and chanted, impromptu:

"Slush, slush, luvaly, slush! Le'ss all go aswimmin' in a dollar's worth o' mush. Slush in the morning,

"Altogether I should say that Mr. Valentine Corliss looks as if he lived up to his name," Cora went on

tranquilly. "Valentine Corliss of Corliss Street I think I rather like the sound of that name." She let her

Hedrick opened his eyes, allowed his countenance to resume its ordinary proportions, and spoke another

This was the shot that told. Cora sprang down from the table with an exclamation.

His efforts to sting his sister were completely successful at last: Cora was visibly agitated, and appealed hotly

to her mother. "Am I to bear this kind of thing all my life? Aren't you ever going to punish his insolence?"

Cora turned to the girl by the window with a pathetic gesture. "Laura " she said, and hesitated.

"I feel so morbid," said Cora, flushing a little and glancing away. "I wish " She stopped.

The silent Laura set aside her work, rose and went out of the room. Her cheeks, too, had reddened faintly, a

circumstance sharply noted by the terrible boy. He sat where he was, asprawl, propped by his arms behind

him, watching with acute concentration the injured departure of Cora, following her sister. At the door, Cora,

without pausing, threw him a look over her shoulder: a fulleyed shot of frankest hatred.

A few moments later, magnificent chords sounded through the house. The piano was old, but tuned to the

middle of the note, and the keys were swept by a master hand. The wires were not hammered; they were

touched knowingly as by the player's own fingers, and so they sang and from out among the chords there

stole an errant melody. This was not "pianoplaying" and not a pianist's triumphant nimbleness it was

music. Art is the language of a heart that knows how to speak, and a heart that knew how was speaking here.

What it told was something immeasurably wistful, something that might have welled up in the breast of a

young girl standing at twilight in an April orchard. It was the inexpressible made into sound, an

"You hear what she's up to?" said Hedrick, turning his head at last. But his mother had departed.

He again extended himself flat upon the floor, face downward, this time as a necessary preliminary to rising

after a manner of his own invention. Mysteriously he became higher in the middle, his body slowly forming

first a round and then a pointed arch, with forehead, knees, and elbows touching the floor. A brilliantly

executed manoeuvre closed his Gothic period, set him upright and upon his feet; then, without ostentation, he

He challenged her with a damnatory gesture in the direction of the music. "You hear what Cora's up to? "

Mrs. Madison's expression was disturbed; she gave her son a look almost of appeal, and said, gently:

"I believe there's nothing precisely criminal in her getting Laura to play for her. Laura's playing always

soothes her when she feels out of sorts and you weren't very considerate of her, Hedrick. You upset

"It's it's because you worried her," his mother faltered evasively. "Besides, it is very hot, and Cora isn't as

"Morbid? Blah!" interrupted the direct boy. "She's started after this Corliss man just like she did for Vilas. If I

"Hedrick!" His mother checked his outburst pleadingly. "Cora has so much harder time than the other girls;

they're all so much better off. They seem to get everything they want, just by asking: nice clothes and

jewellery and automobiles. That seems to make a great difference nowadays; they all seem to have

automobiles. We're so dreadfully poor, and Cora has to struggle so for what good times she "

"Her?" the boy jibed bitterly. "I don't see her doing any particular struggling." He waved his hand in a wide

"There, there!" the mother said, and, as if feeling the need of placating this harsh judge, continued gently:

"Cora isn't strong, Hedrick, and she does have a hard time. Almost every one of the other girls in her set is at

the seashore or somewhere having a gay summer. You don't realize, but it's mortifying to have to be the only

one to stay at home, with everybody knowing it's because your father can't afford to send her. And this house

is so hopeless," Mrs. Madison went on, extending her plea hopefully; "it's impossible to make it attractive,

but Cora keeps trying and trying: she was all morning on her knees gilding those chairs for the musicroom,

"`Musicroom'!" sneered the boy. "Gilt chairs! All showoff! That's all she ever thinks about. It's all there is

to Cora, just showoff, so she'll get a string o' fellows chasin' after her. She's started for this Corliss just

"Just look at her!" he cried vehemently. "Don't you know she's tryin' to make this Corliss think it's her playin'

"Didn't she do that with Ray Vilas?" he demanded quickly. "Wasn't that exactly what she did the first time he

"Oh just in fun." Mrs. Madison's tone lacked conviction; she turned, a little confusedly, from the glaring

boy and fumbled among the silver on the kitchen table. "Besides she told him afterward that it was

"He walked in on her one day when she was battin' away at the piano herself with her back to the door. Then

she pretended it had been a joke, and he was so far gone by that time he didn't care. He's crazy, anyway,"

"He owns this house. His family were early settlers and used to be very prominent, but they're all dead except

this one. His mother was a widow; she went abroad to live and took him with her when he was about your

"No; an aunt of his did. She left it to him when she died, two years ago. Your father was agent for her."

"It's been for sale all the time he's owned it. That's why we moved here; it made the rent low."

"They used to have money, but maybe it's all spent. It seemed to me he might want to raise money on the

house, because I don't see any other reason that could bring him back here. He's already mortgaged it pretty

heavily, your father told me. I don't " Mrs. Madison paused abruptly, her eyes widening at a dismaying

thought. "Oh, I do hope your father will know better than to ask him to stay to dinner!"

Hedrick's expression became cryptic. "Father won't ask him," he said. "But I'll bet you a thousand dollars he

The mother followed her son's thought and did not seek to elicit verbal explanation of the certainty which

justified so large a venture. "Oh, I hope not," she said. "Sarah's threatening to leave, anyway; and she gets so

"Well, Sarah'll have to get cross," said the boy grimly; "and I'll have to plug out and go for a quart of brick

icecream and carry it home in all this heat; and Laura and you'll have to stand over the stove with Sarah; and

father'll have to change his shirt; and we'll all have to toil and moil and sweat and suffer while Coralee sits

out on the front porch and talks toodledodums to her new duke. And then she'll have you go out and kid

"Yes, you will! while she gets herself all dressed and powdered up again. After that, she'll do her share of

the work: she'll strain her poor back carryin' Dick Lindley's flowers down the back stairs and stickin' 'em in a

vase over a hole in the tablecloth that Laura hasn't had time to sew up. You wait and see!"

The gloomy realism of this prophecy was not without effect upon the seer's mother. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed,

"No; I'm sure she wouldn't think of it, but if she does I'll tell her we can't. We really can't, today."

Her son looked pityingly upon her. "She ought to be my daughter," he said, the sinister implication all too

He returned to his abandoned art labours in the "conservatory," and meditatively perpetrated monstrosities

upon the tiles for the next halfhour, at the end of which he concealed his box of chalks, with an anxiety

possibly not unwarranted, beneath the sideboard; and made his way toward the front door, first glancing,

unseen, into the kitchen where his mother still pursued the silver. He walked through the hall on tiptoe, taking

care to step upon the much stained and worn strip of "Turkish" carpet, and not upon the more resonant

The open doorway was like a brilliantly painted picture hung upon the darkness of the hall, though its human

centre of interest was no startling bit of work, consisting of Mr. Madison pottering aimlessly about the

sunflooded, unkempt lawn, fanning himself, and now and then stooping to pull up one of the thousands of

plantainweeds that beset the grass. With him the little spy had no concern; but from a part of the porch out

of sight from the hall came Cora's exquisite voice and the light and pleasant baritone of the visitor. Hedrick

"I should break any engagement whatsoever if I had one," Mr. Corliss was saying with what the eavesdropper

considered an offensively "foreign" accent and an equally unjustifiable gallantry; "but of course I haven't: I

am so utterly a stranger here. Your mother is immensely hospitable to wish you to ask me, and I'll be only too

glad to stay. Perhaps after dinner you'll be very, very kind and play again? Of course you know how

"Oh, just improvising," Cora tossed off, carelessly, with a deprecatory ripple of laughter. "It's purely with the

mood, you see. I can't make myself do things. No; I fancy I shall not play again today."

There was another little silence; and the listener was able to construct a picture (possibly in part from an

active memory) of Cora's delicate hands uplifted to the gentleman's lapel and Cora's eyes for a moment

"Yes, one has moods," she said, dreamily. "I am all moods. I think you are too, Mr. Corliss. You look moody.

A horrible grin might have been seen to disfigure the shadow in the corner just within the doorway.

It was cooler outdoors, after dinner, in the dusk of that evening; nevertheless three members of the Madison

family denied themselves the breeze, and, as by a tacitly recognized and habitual houserule, so disposed

themselves as to afford the most agreeable isolation for the younger daughter and the guest, who occupied

wicker chairs upon the porch. The mother and father sat beneath a hot, gas droplight in the small "library";

Mrs. Madison with an evening newspaper, her husband with "King Solomon's Mines"; and Laura, after

crisply declining an urgent request from Hedrick to play, had disappeared upstairs. The inimical lad alone

He sat upon the topmost of the porch steps with the air of being permanently implanted; leaning forward,

elbows on knees, cheeks on palms, in a treacherous affectation of profound reverie; and his back (all of him

that was plainly visible in the hall light) tauntingly close to a delicate foot which would, God wot! willingly

have launched him into the darkness beyond. It was his dreadful pleasure to understand wholly the itching of

The gaslight from the hall laid a broad orange path to the steps Cora and her companion sat just beyond

it, his whiteness gray, and she a pale ethereality in the shadow. She wore an evening gown that revealed a

vague lilac through white, and shimmered upon her like a vapour. She was very quiet; and there was a wan

sweetness about her, an exhalation of wistfulness. Cora, in the evening, was more like a rose than ever. She

was fragrant in the dusk. The spell she cast was an Undine's: it was not to be thought so exquisite a thing as

she could last. And who may know how she managed to say what she did in the silence and darkness? For it

was said without words, without touch, even without a look as plainly as if she had spoken or written

the message: "If I am a rose, I am one to be worn and borne away. Are you the man?"

With the fall of night, the street they faced had become still, save for an infrequent squawk of irritation on the

part of one of the passing automobiles, gadding for the most part silently, like fireflies. But after a time a

"In the evening, by the moonlight, you could hear those banjos ringing; In the evening, by the moonlight, you

could hear those darkies singing. How the ole folks would injoy it; they would sit all night an' lissun, As we

"Ah, that takes me back!" exclaimed Corliss. "That's as it used to be. I might be a boy again."

"Not very many. My, oldmaid aunt didn't like me overmuch, I believe; and I wasn't here often. My mother

and I lived far down the street. A big apartmenthouse stands there now, I noticed as I was walking out here

"Vilas?" said the visitor politely, with a casual recollection that the name had been once or twice emphasized

"It wasn't, I guess," said Hedrick. "Ray Vilas has only been here about two years. He came from Kentucky."

"He ain't a boy," said Hedrick, and returned to silence without further explanation.

She leaned forward from her chair, extending a white arm along the iron railing of the porch; bending toward

Corliss, and speaking toward him and away from Hedrick in as low a voice as possible, probably entertaining

"I love things that are cool and kind," she said. I love things that are cool and strong. I love iron." She moved

her arm caressingly upon the railing. "I love its cool, smooth touch. Any strong life must have iron in it. I like

At these words the frayed edge of Hedrick's broad white collar was lifted perceptibly from his coat, as if by a

"Dear lady," he began and it was an effective beginning, for a sigh of pleasure parted her lips as he spoke

"I think not. You shouldn't call any life commonplace that has escaped this!" The lovely voice was all the

richer for the pain that shook it now. "This monotony, this unending desert of ashes, this death in life!"

Valentine Corliss drew in his breath with a sound murmurous of delight, and for a time they did not speak.

"There are meetings in the desert," he went on, slowly. "A lonely traveller finds another at a spring,

Cora breathed rapidly in the silence that followed; she had every appearance of a woman deeply and

mysteriously stirred. Her companion watched her keenly in the dusk, and whatever the reciprocal symptoms

of emotion he may have exhibited, they were far from tumultuous, bearing more likeness to the quiet

After a time she leaned back in her chair again, and began to fan herself slowly.

"You have lived in the Orient, haven't you, Mr. Corliss?" she said in an ordinary tone.

"Not lived. I've been East once or twice. I spend a greater part of the year at Posilipo."

"Do you know what that seems to me?" Cora asked gravely, after a pause; then answered herself, after

"On sapphires and emeralds and turquoises and rubies, melted and blown into waves."

Hedrick slew a mosquito upon his temple, smiting himself hard. "No, they're Chinese!" he muttered hoarsely.

"Ah!" she protested, turning to him again. "You don't tell me. You let me crossquestion you, but you don't

tell me things! Don't you see? I want to know what life is! I want to know of strange seas, of strange people,

of pain and of danger, of great music, of curious thoughts! What are the Neapolitan women like?"

"All the pretty ones I ever saw, he answered gayly, but with something in his tone (as there was in hers)

which implied that all the time they were really talking of things other than those spoken. Yet here this secret

She let him hear a genuine little snap of her teeth. I thought you were like that!"

"You could 'a' seen a Neapolitan woman yesterday, Cora," said Hedrick, obligingly, "if you'd looked out the

front window. She was working a hurdygurdy up and down this neighbourhood all afternoon." He turned

genially to face his sister, and added: "Ray Vilas used to say there were lots of pretty girls in Lexington."

Cora sprang to her feet. "You're not smoking," she said to Corliss hurriedly, as upon a sudden discovery. "Let

She had entered the house before he could protest, and Hedrick, looking down the hall, was acutely aware

that she dived desperately into the library. But, however tragic the cry for justice she uttered there, it certainly

was not prolonged; and the almost instantaneous quickness of her reappearance upon the porch, with matches

in her hand, made this one of the occasions when her brother had to admit that in her own line Cora was a

"So thoughtless of me," she said cheerfully, resuming her seat. She dropped the matches into Mr. Corliss's

hand with a fleeting touch of her fingertips upon his palm. "Of course you wanted to smoke. I can't think

"Hedrick! I should like to see you! Hedrick rose, and, looking neither to the right nor, to the left, went stonily

"Call me?" he inquired with the air of cheerful readiness to proceed upon any errand, no matter how difficult.

Hedrick himself felt the justice of her reproof: his reference to Laura was poor work, he knew. He hung his

His father evidently considered it wiser not to repeat the text of accusation. "You know what you did," he

"Oho!" Hedrick's eyes became severe, and his sire's evasively shifted from them.

Both parents looked uncomfortable, and Mr. Madison, turning a leaf in his book, gave a mediocre imitation

There was no response, which appeared to satisfy Hedrick perfectly. Neither parent met his glance; the

mother troubled and the father dogged, while the boy rejoiced sternly in some occult triumph. He inflated his

New sounds from without men's voices in greeting, and a ripple of response from Cora somewhat lacking

in enthusiasm afforded Mr. Madison unmistakable relief, and an errand upon which to send his deadly

Hedrick, after a reconnaissance in the hall, obeyed at leisure. Closing the library door nonchalantly behind

him, he found himself at the foot of a flight of unillumined back stairs, where his manner underwent a swift

alteration, for here was an adventure to be gone about with ceremony. "Ventre St. Gris!" he muttered

hoarsely, and loosened the long rapier in the shabby sheath at his side. For, with the closing of the door, he

had become a Huguenot gentleman, over forty and a little grizzled perhaps, but modest and unassuming;

wiry, alert, lightningquick, with a wrist of steel and a heart of gold; and he was about to ascend the stairs of

an unknown house at Blois in total darkness. He went up, crouching, ready for anything, without a footfall,

not even causing a hideous creak; and gained the top in safety. Here he turned into an obscure passage, and at

the end of it beheld, through an open door, a little room in which a darkeyed lady sat writing in a book by

Laura was writing in an old ledger she had found in the attic, blank and unused. She had rebound it herself in

heavy gray leather; and fitted it with a tiny padlock and key. She wore the key under her dress upon a very

thin silver chain round her neck. Upon the first page of the book was written a date, now more than a year

Laura, at this writing, looked piquantly unfamiliar to her brother: her eyes were moist and bright; her cheeks

were flushed and as she bent low, intently close to the book, a loosened wavy strand of her dark hair almost

touched the page. Hedrick had never before seen her wearing an expression so "becoming" as the eager and

tremulous warmth of this; though sometimes, at the piano, she would play in a reverie which wrought such

glamour about her that even a brother was obliged to consider her rather handsome. She looked more than

handsome now, so strangely lovely, in fact, that his eyes watered painfully with the protracted struggle to

He gave it up at last, and lounged forward blinking, with the air of finding it sweet to do nothing.

At the first sound of his movement she closed the book in a flash; then, with a startled, protective gesture,

"Oh, I don't care about your old book," said Hedrick, with an amused nonchalance Talleyrand might have

"A man I've often noticed around the house," he replied blightingly. "You may have seen him I think his

One of Laura's hands instinctively began to arrange her hair, but the other remained upon the book. "Who is it

Laura rose, standing between her brother and the table. "Tell mother I will come down."

Hedrick moved a little nearer, whereupon, observing his eye, she put her right hand behind her upon the

book. She was not deceived, and boys are not only superb strategic actors sometimes, but calamitously quick.

Appearing to be unaware of her careful defence, he leaned against the wall and crossed his feet in an original

"Of course you understand," he said cosily. "Cora wants to keep this Corliss in a corner of the porch where

she can coo at him; so you and mother'll have to raise a ballyhoo for Dick Lindley and that Wade Trumble.

It'd been funny if Dick hadn't noticed anybody was there and kissed her. What on earth does he want to stay

"Get out!" he hooted. "What's the use talking like that to me? A blind mackerel could see she's let poor old

Lindley think he's High Man with her these last few months; but he'll have to hit the pike now, I reckon,

'cause this Corliss is altogether too perinsley for Dick's class. Lee roy est mort. Vive lee roy!"

Laura's flushed cheeks flushed deeper, and in her confusion she answered too quickly. "I only have one

"Well, then," he returned triumphantly, "what do you want to put it on now for?"

"You didn't for this Corliss," he persisted sharply. You know Dick Lindley couldn't see anybody but Cora to

save his life, and I don't suppose there's a girl on earth fool enough to dress up for that Wade Trum "

"Hedrick!" Laura's voice rang with a warning which he remembered to have heard upon a few previous

occasions when she had easily proved herself physically stronger than he. "Go and tell mother I'm coming,"

He began to whistle "Beulah Land" as he went, but, with the swift closing of the door behind him, abandoned

Twenty minutes later, when Laura came out and went downstairs, a fine straight figure in her black evening

gown, the Sieur de Marsac that hardbitten Huguenot, whose middleaged shabbiness was but the

outward and deceptive seeming of the longest head and the best sword in France emerged cautiously from

the passageway and stood listening until her footsteps were heard descending the front stairs. Nevertheless,

the most painstaking search of her room, a search as systematic as it was feverish, failed to reveal where she

A prophet has always been supposed to take some pleasure, perhaps morbid, in seeing his predictions

fulfilled; and it may have been a consolation to the gloomy heart of Hedrick, sorely injured by Laura's

offensive care of her treasure, to find the grouping upon the porch as he had foretold: Cora and Mr. Corliss

sitting a little aloof from the others, far enough to permit their holding an indistinct and murmurous

conversation of their own. Their sequestration, even by so short a distance, gave them an appearance of

intimacy which probably accounted for the rather absent greeting bestowed by Mr. Lindley upon the son of

This Richard Lindley was a thin, friendly looking young man with a pleasing, oldfashioned face which

suggested that if he were minded to be portrayed it should be by the daguerreotype, and that a high, black

stock would have been more suitable to him than his businesslike, modern neckgear. He had fine eyes,

which seemed habitually concerned with faraway things, though when he looked at Cora they sparkled;

however, it cannot be said that the sparkling continued at its brightest when his glance wandered (as it not

infrequently did this evening) from her lovely head to the rose in Mr. Corliss's white coat.

Hedrick, resuming a position upon the top step between the two groups, found the conversation of the larger

annoying because it prevented him from hearing that of the smaller. It was carried on for the greater part by

his mother and Mr. Trumble; Laura sat silent between these two; and Lindley's mood was obviously

contemplative. Mr. Wade Trumble, twentysix, small, earnest, and already beginning to lose his hair, was

He was one of those people who are so continuously aggressive that they are negligible. "What's the matter

here? Nobody pays any attention to me. I'm important!" He might have had that legend engraved on his card,

it spoke from everything else that was his: face, voice, gesture even from his clothes, for they also

clamoured for attention without receiving it. Worn by another man, their extravagance of shape and shade

might have advertised a selfsacrificing effort for the picturesque; but upon Mr. Trumble they paradoxically

confirmed an impression that he was well off and close. Certainly this was the impression confirmed in the

mind of the shrewdest and most experienced observer on that veranda. The accomplished Valentine Corliss

was quite able to share Cora's detachment satisfactorily, and be very actively aware of other things at the

same time. For instance: Richard Lindley's preoccupation had neither escaped him nor remained unconnected

in his mind with that gentleman's somewhat attentive notice of the present position of a certain rose.

Mr. Trumble took up Mrs. Madison's placid weather talk as if it had been a flaunting challenge; he made it a

matter of conscience and for argument; for he was a doughty champion, it appeared, when nothings were in

question, one of those stern men who will have accuracy in the banal, insisting upon portent in talk meant to

"I don't know about that, now," he said with severe emphasis. "I don't know about that at all. I can't say I

agree with you. In fact, I do not agree with you: it was hotter in the early part of July, year before last, than it

"I fear I must beg to differ with you," he said, catching the poor lady again, a moment later. "I beg to differ

"Permit me to disagree, he interrupted her at once, when she pathetically squirmed to another subject.

"There's more than one side to this matter. You are looking at this matter from a totally wrong angle. . . . Let

me inform you that statistics. . . ." Mrs. Madison's gentle voice was no more than just audible in the short

intervals he permitted; a blind listener would have thought Mr. Trumble at the telephone. Hedrick was

thankful when his mother finally gave up altogether the display of her ignorance, inaccuracy, and general

misinformation, and Trumble talked alone. That must have been the young man's object; certainly he had

struggled for it; and so it must have pleased him. He talked on and on and on; he passed from one topic to

another with no pause; swinging over the gaps with a "Now you take," or, "And that reminds me," filling

many a vacancy with "Soandso and soandso," and other stencils, while casting about for material to

continue. Everything was italicized, the significant and the trivial, to the same monotone of emphasis. Death

Hedrick's irritation was gradually dispelled; and, becoming used to the sound, he found it lulling; relaxed his

attitude and drowsed; Mr. Lindley was obviously lost in a reverie; Mrs. Madison, her hand shading her eyes,

went over her marketlist for the morrow and otherwise set her house in order; Laura alone sat straight in her

chair; and her face was toward the vocalist, but as she was in deep shadow her expression could not be

guessed. However, one person in that group must have listened with genuine pleasure else why did he

It was the returned native whose departure at last rang the curtain on the monologue. The end of the long

sheltered seclusion of Cora and her companion was a whispered word. He spoke it first:

Cora gave a keen, quick, indrawn sigh not of sorrow and sank back in her chair, as he touched her

hand in farewell and rose to go. She remained where she was, motionless and silent in the dark, while he

crossed to Mrs. Madison, and prefaced a leavetaking unusually formal for these precincts with his mannered

"When I passed by there this afternoon, said Corliss, "it recalled a stupendous conflict we had, once upon a

"I remember the cause," said Mr. Lindley, but, stopping rather short, omitted to state it. "At all events, it was

Mr. Trumble joined the parting guest, making simultaneous adieus with unmistakable elation. Mr. Trumble's

As they went down the steps together, the top of his head just above the level of his companion's shoulder, he

lifted to Corliss a searching gaze like an actor's hopeful scrutiny of a new acquaintance; and before they

reached the street his bark rang eagerly on the stilly night: "Now there is a point on which I beg to differ with

Mrs. Madison gave Lindley her hand. "I think I'll go in. Goodnight, Richard. Come, Hedrick!"

Hedrick rose, groaning, and batted his eyes painfully as he faced the hall light. "What'd you and this Corliss

"Come, Hedrick," repeated his mother, setting a gently urgent hand on his shoulder."

"I won't," said the boy impatiently, shaking her off and growing suddenly very wideawake and determined. "I

"Well it was about a `show.' We were only boys, you know younger than you, perhaps."

"They sold tickets to the other boys; and I thought my brother didn't get his share."

"I wish I'd seen it," said Hedrick, not unsympathetically, but as a sportsman. And he consented to be led

Laura had been standing at the top of the steps looking down the street, where Corliss and his brisk

companion had emerged momentarily from deep shadows under the trees into the illumination of a swinging

arclamp at the corner. They disappeared; and she turned, and, smiling, gave the delaying guest her hand in

His expression, which was somewhat troubled, changed to one of surprise as her face came into the light, for

it was transfigured. Deeply flushed, her eyes luminous, she wore that shining look Hedrick had seen as she

She said goodnight again, and went in slowly. As she reached the foot of the stairs, she heard him moving a

"Please don't sit close to me!" There was a sudden shrillness in the voice of honey, and the six words were

run so rapidly together they seemed to form but one. After a moment Cora added, with a deprecatory ripple of

Half an hour later, when Lindley had gone, Cora closed the front doors in a manner which drew an immediate

cry of agony from the room where her father was trying to sleep. She stood on tiptoe to turn out the gaslight

in the hall; but for a time the key resisted the insufficient pressure of her fingertips: the little orange flame,

with its blackgreen crescent over the armature, so maliciously like the "eye" of a peacock feather, limned

the exquisite planes of the upturned face; modelled them with soft and regular shadows; painted a sullen

loveliness. The key turned a little, but not enough; and she whispered to herself a monosyllable not usually

attributed to the vocabulary of a damsel of rank. Next moment, her expression flashed in a brilliant change,

like that of a pouting child suddenly remembering that tomorrow is Christmas. The key surrendered instantly,

The transom of Laura's door shone brightly; but the knob, turning uselessly in Cora's hand, proved the door

itself not so hospitable. There was a brief rustling within the room; the bolt snapped, and Laura opened the

"Why, Laura," said Cora, observing her sister with transient curiosity, "you haven't undressed. What have you

been doing? Something's the matter with you. I know what it is," she added, laughing, as she seated herself

"Horrible little person!" said Cora, forgetting what she owed the unfortunate Mr. Trumble for the vocal wall

which had so effectively sheltered her earlier in the evening. "He's like one of those booming Junebugs,

"Me? Yes, he would like to, the rat! But he's consoled when he can get any one to listen to his awful chatter.

He makes up to himself among women for the way he gets sat on at the club. But he has his use: he shows off

the other men so, by contrast. Oh, Laura!" She lifted both hands to her cheeks, which were beautiful with a

"Now what's the use of that?" asked Cora peevishly, "with me? I didn't mean Richard Lindley. You know

Cora gave her a long look in which a childlike pleading mingled with a faint, strange trouble; then this glance

wandered moodily from the face of her sister to her own slippers, which she elevated to meet her descending

"And you know I can't help it," she said, shifting quickly to the role of accuser. "So what's the use of

behaving like the Pest?" She let her feet drop to the floor again, and her voice trembled a little as she went on:

"Laura, you don't know what I had to endure from him tonight. I really don't think I can stand it to live in

the same house any longer with that frightful little devil. He's been throwing Ray Vilas's name at me until

oh, it was ghastly tonight! And then then " Her tremulousness increased. "I haven't said anything

"`Speak to me!'" Cora's exclamation shook with a halflaugh of hysteria. "He made an awful scene! He came

out of the Richfield Hotel barroom on Main Street just as I was going into the jeweller's next door, and he

stopped and bowed like a monkey, square in front of me, and and he took off his hat and set it on the

pavement at my feet and told me to kick it into the gutter! Everybody stopped and stared; and I couldn't get

by him. And he said he said I'd kicked his heart into the gutter and he didn't want it to catch cold without a

hat! And wouldn't I please be so kind as to kick " She choked with angry mortification. "It was

horrible! People were stopping and laughing, and a rowdy began to make fun of Ray, and pushed him, and

"He's nothing of the kind; he's just a brute. He does it to make people say I'm the cause of his drinking; and

everybody in this gossipy old town does say it just because I got bored to death with his everlasting

doyoulovemetodayaswellasyesterday style of torment, and couldn't help liking Richard better.

Yes, every old cat in town says I ruined him, and that's what he wants them to say. It's so unmanly! I wish

"Why not? He's threatened to enough. And I'm afraid to go out of the house because I can't tell when I'll meet

him or what he'll do. I was almost sick in that jeweller's shop, this morning, and so upset I came away

without getting my pendant. There's another thing I've got to go through, I suppose!" She pounded the

yielding pillow desperately. "Oh, oh, oh! Life isn't worth living it seems to me sometimes as if everybody

in the world spent his time trying to think up ways to make it harder for me! I couldn't have worn the

pendant, though, even if I'd got it," she went on, becoming thoughtful. "It's Richard's silly old engagement

ring, you know," she explained, lightly. "I had it made up into a pendant, and heaven knows how I'm going to

"Oh, you know how he is," said Cora. "He didn't speak of it exactly. But after you'd gone, he asked me

" She stopped with a little gulp, an expression of keen distaste about her mouth.

"Oh, he wants me to wear my ring," she continued, with sudden rapidity: "and how the dickens can I when I

can't even tell him it's been made into a pendant! He wants to speak to father; he wants to announce it. He's

sold out his business for what he thinks is a good deal of money, and he wants me to marry him next month

and take some miserable little trip, I don't know where, for a few weeks, before he invests what he's made in

another business. Oh!" she cried. "It's a horrible thing to ask a girl to do: to settle down just housekeeping,

housekeeping, housekeeping forever in this stupid, stupid town! It's so unfair! Men are just possessive; they

think it's loving you to want to possess you themselves. A beautiful `love'! It's so mean! Men!" She sprang up

and threw out both arms in a vehement gesture of revolt. "Damn 'em, I wish they'd let me alone!"

Laura's eyes had lost their quiet; they showed a glint of tears, and she was breathing quickly. In this crisis of

emotion the two girls went to each other silently; Cora turned, and Laura began to unfasten Cora's dress in the

"Poor Richard!" said Laura presently, putting into her mouth a tiny pearl button which had detached itself at

her touch. "This was his first evening in the overflow. No wonder he was troubled!"

"Pooh!" said Cora. "As if you and mamma weren't good enough for him to talk to! He's spoiled. He's so used

to being called `the most popular man in town' and knowing that every girl on Corliss Street wanted to marry

"Well, it was!" And Cora's abrupt laugh had the glad, free ring fancy attaches to the merry confidences of a

Laura knelt to continue unfastening the dress; and when it was finished she extended three of the tiny buttons

in her hand. "They're always loose on a new dress," she said. "I'll sew them all on tight, tomorrow."

Cora smiled lovingly. "You good old thing," she said. "You looked pretty tonight."

"That's nice!" Laura laughed, as she dropped the buttons into a little drawer of her bureau. It was an ugly,

cheap, old bureau, its veneer loosened and peeling, the mirror small and flawed a piece of furniture in

keeping with the room, which was small, plain and hot, its only ornamental adjunct being a silverframed

photograph of Mrs. Madison, with Cora, as a child of seven or eight, upon her lap.

"I wonder if I look as well as I did the last time I heard I was pretty," said the other. "That was at the

Assembly in March. Coming down the stairs, I heard a man from out of town say, `That blackhaired Miss

Madison is a pretty girl.' And some one with him said, `Yes; you'll think so until you meet her sister!'"

"You are an old dear!" Cora enfolded her delightedly; then, drawing back, exclaimed: "You know he's

gorgeous!" And with a feverish little ripple of laughter, caught her dress together in the back and sped

This was a very different affair from Laura's, much cooler and larger; occupying half the width of the house;

and a rather expensive struggle had made it pretty and even luxurious. The window curtains and the

wallpaper were fresh, and of a quiet blue; there was a large divan of the same colour; a light desk, prettily

equipped, occupied a corner; and between two gilt gasbrackets, whose patent burners were shielded by

fringed silk shades, stood a chevalglass six feet high. The door of a very large clothespantry stood open,

showing a fine company of dresses, suspended from forms in an orderly manner; near by, a rosewood cabinet

exhibited a delicate collection of shoes and slippers upon its four shelves. A dressingtable, charmingly

littered with everything, took the place of a bureau; and upon it, in a massive silver frame, was a large

photograph of Mr. Richard Lindley. The frame was handsome, but somewhat battered: it had seen service.

There were photographs everywhere photographs framed and unframed; photographs large and photographs

small, the fresh and the faded; tintypes, kodaks, "full lengths," "cabinets," groups every kind of

photograph; and among them were several of Cora herself, one of her mother, one of Laura, and two others of

girls. All the rest were sterner. Two or three were seamed across with cracks, hastily recalled sentences to

destruction; and here and there remained tokens of a draughtsman's overgenerous struggle to confer upon

some of the smoothshaven faces additional manliness in the shape of sweeping moustaches, long beards,

goatees, muttonchops, and, in the case of one gentleman of a blond, delicate and tenorlike beauty,

neckwhiskers; decorations in many instances so deeply and damply pencilled that subsequent attempts at

erasure had failed of great success. Certainly, Hedrick had his own way of relieving dull times.

Cora turned up the lights at the sides of the chevalglass, looked at herself earnestly, then absently, and

began to loosen her hair. Her lifted hands hesitated; she rearranged the slight displacement of her hair

already effected; set two chairs before the mirror, seated herself in one; pulled up her dress, where it was

slipping from her shoulder, rested an arm upon the back of the other chair as, earlier in the evening, she had

rested it upon the iron railing of the porch, and, leaning forward, assumed as exactly as possible the attitude

in which she had sat so long beside Valentine Corliss. She leaned very slowly closer and yet closer to the

mirror; a rich colour spread over her; her eyes, gazing into themselves, became dreamy, inexpressibly wistful,

cloudily sweet; her breath was tumultuous. "`Even as you and I'?" she whispered.

Then, in the final moment of this afterthefact rehearsal, as her face almost touched the glass, she forgot

how and what she had looked to Corliss; she forgot him; she forgot him utterly: she leaped to her feet and

"You darling!" she cried. Cora's christening had been unimaginative, for the name means only, "maiden." She

should have been called Narcissa. {Illustration on the Frontispiece applies HERE}

The rhapsody was over instantly, leaving an emotional vacuum like a silence at the dentist's. Cora yawned,

When she had put on her nightgown, she went from one window to another, closing the shutters against the

coming of the morning light to wake her. As she reached the last window, a sudden high wind rushed among

the trees outside; a white flare leaped at her face, startling her; there was a boom and rattle as of the brasses,

cymbals, and kettledrums of some fatal orchestra; and almost at once it began to rain.

And with that, from the distance came a voice, singing; and at the first sound of it, though it was far away and

almost indistinguishable, Cora started more violently than at the lightning; she sprang to the mirror lights, put

The wind passed; the heart of the storm was miles away; this was only its fringe; but the rain pattered sharply

upon the thick foliage outside her windows; and the singing voice came slowly up the street.

It was a strange voice: highpitched and hoarse and not quite human, so utter was the animal abandon of

"I love a lassie, a bonnie, bonnie lassie," it wailed and piped, coming nearer; and the gay little air wrought

to a grotesque of itself by this wild, high voice in the rain might have been a banshee's lovesong.

"I love a lassie, a bonnie, bonnie lassie. She's as pure as the lily in the dell "

The voice grew louder; came in front of the house; came into the yard; came and sang just under Cora's

window. There it fell silent a moment; then was lifted in a long peal of imbecile laughter, and sang again:

"Then slowly, slowly rase she up And slowly she came nigh him, And when she drew the curtain by

Cora's door opened and closed softly, and Laura, barefooted, stole to the bed and put an arm about the

"The drunken beast!" sobbed Cora. "It's to disgrace me! That's what he wants. He'd like nothing better than

headlines in the papers: `Ray Vilas arrested at the Madison residence'!" She choked with anger and

The voice stopped singing, and began to mumble incoherently; then it rose again in a lamentable outcry:

"Oh, God of the fallen, be Thou merciful to me! Be Thou merciful merciful merciful" . . .

"Merciful, merciful, merciful!" it shrieked, over and over, with increasing loudness, and to such

nerveracking effect that Cora, gasping, beat the bedclothes frantically with her hands at each iteration.

The transom over the door became luminous; some one had lighted the gas in the upper hall. Both girls

jumped from the bed, ran to the door, and opened it. Their mother, wearing a red wrapper, was standing at the

head of the stairs, which Mr. Madison, in his nightshirt and slippers, was slowly and heavily descending.

Before he reached the front door, the voice outside ceased its dreadful plaint with the abrupt anticlimax of a

phonograph stopped in the middle of a record. There was the sound of a struggle and wrestling, a turmoil in

"Let me go, da " cried the voice, drowned again at half a word, as by a powerful hand upon a

The old man opened the front door, stepped out, closing it behind him; and the three women looked at each

other wanly during a hushed interval like that in a sleepingcar at night when the train stops. Presently he

came in again, and started up the stairs, heavily and slowly, as he had gone down.

"Richard Lindley stopped him," he said, sighing with the ascent, and not looking up. "He heard him as he

came along the street, and dressed as quick as he could, and ran up and got him. Richard's taken him away."

He went to his own room, panting, mopping his damp gray hair with his fat wrist, and looking at no one.

Cora began to cry again. It was an hour before any of this family had recovered sufficient poise to realize,

with the shuddering gratitude of adventurers spared from the abyss, that, under Providence, Hedrick had not

Much light shatters much loveliness; but a pretty girl who looks pretty outdoors on a dazzling hot summer

morning is prettier then than ever. Cora knew it; of course she knew it; she knew exactly how she looked, as

she left the concrete bridge behind her at the upper end of Corliss Street and turned into a shrubbordered

bypath of the river park. In imagination she stood at the turn of the path just ahead, watching her own

approach: she saw herself as a picture the whitedomed parasol, with its cheerful palegreen lining, a

background for her white hat, her cornsilk hair, and her delicately flushed face. She saw her pale, live arms

through their thin sleeves, and the light grasp of her gloved fingers upon the glistening stick of the parasol;

she saw the long, simple lines of her close white dress and their graceful interchanging movements with the

alternate advance of her white shoes over the fine gravel path; she saw the dazzling splashes of sunshine

playing upon her through the changeful branches overhead. Cora never lacked a gallery: she sat there herself.

She refreshed the eyes of a respectable burgess of sixty, a person so colourless that no one, after passing him,

could have remembered anything about him except that he wore glasses and some sort of moustache; and to

Cora's vision he was as near transparent as any man could be, yet she did not miss the almost imperceptible

signs of his approval, as they met and continued on their opposite ways. She did not glance round, nor did he

pause in his slow walk; neither was she clairvoyant; none the less, she knew that he turned his head and

The path led away from the drives and more public walks of the park, to a low hill, thoughtfully untouched

by the gardener and left to the shadowy thickets and goodsmelling underbrush of its rich native woodland.

They touched hands and sat without speaking. For several moments they continued the silence, then turned

slowly and looked at each other; then looked slowly and gravely away, as if to an audience in front of them.

They knew how to do it; but probably a critic in the first row would have concluded that Cora felt it even

"I suppose this is very clandestine," she said, after a deep breath. "I don't think I care, though."

She bit her lip and looked down, but not before he had seen the quick dilation of her ardent eyes. "I wanted to

be out of doors," she said. "I'm afraid there's one thing of yours I don't like, Mr. Corliss."

"Your house. I don't like living in it, very much. I'm sorry you can't throw it away."

"I'm thinking of doing that very thing," he laughed. "But I'm glad I found the rose in that queer old

"Not too much like a rose, sometimes," she said. "I think this morning I'm a little like some of the old doors

"I didn't sleep very well." She bestowed upon him a glance which transmuted her actual explanation into, "I

couldn't sleep for thinking of you." It was perfectly definite; but the acute gentleman laughed genially.

Her eyes sparkled, and she joined laughter with him. "But it's true: you did keep me awake. Besides, I had a

"Serenade? I had an idea they didn't do that any more over here. I remember the young men going about at

"Oh, it wasn't much like that," she interrupted, carelessly. "I don't think that sort of thing has been done for

"I see. Yes, that was a bad guess: I'm sure Lindley's just the same steadygoing, sober, plodding old horse he

was as a boy. His picture doesn't fit a romantic frame singing under a lady's window in a thunderstorm!

"He is," said Cora. "I suppose he's about twentythree; just a boy and a very annoying one, too!"

Her companion looked at her narrowly. "By any chance, is he the person your little brother seemed so fond of

Cora gave a genuine start. "Good heavens! What makes you think that?" she cried, but she was sufficiently

"Oh, `jilted'!" she exclaimed. "All the wild boys that a girl can't make herself like aren't `jilted,' are they?"

"I believe I should say yes," he returned. "Yes, in this instance, just about all of them."

"Is every woman a target for you, Mr. Corliss? I suppose you know that you have a most uncomfortable way

of shooting up the landscape." She stirred uneasily, and moved away from him to the other end of the bench.

He leaned quickly toward her and answered in a low voice: "You can be sure I'm not going to miss anything

It was as if his bending near her had been to rouge her. But it cannot be said that she disliked his effect upon

her; for the deep breath she drew in audibly, through her shut teeth, was a signal of delight; and then followed

Presently, she gracefully and uselessly smoothed her hair from the left temple with the backs of her fingers,

of course finishing the gesture prettily by tucking in a hairpin tighter above the nape of her neck. Then, with

"Perhaps that was part of why I came," he said, gayly. "I need a great deal of money, Miss Cora Madison."

"You mock me! No; I'm going to make everybody rich who will trust me. I have a secret, and it's worth a

mountain of gold. I've put all I have into it, and will put in everything else I can get for myself, but it's going

to take a great deal more than that. And everybody who goes into it will come out on Monte Cristo's island."

"But he has: his experience in business and his integrity. I want him to be secretary of my company. Will you

"Do you want me to?" she asked with a quick, serious glance straight in his eyes, one which he met

"I have an extremely definite impression," he said lightly, "that you can make anybody you know do just

"And I have another that you have still another `extremely definite impression' that takes rank over that," she

said, but not with his lightness, for her tone was faintly rueful. "It is that you can make me do just what you

Mr. Valentine Corliss threw himself back on the bench and laughed aloud. "What a girl!" he cried. Then for a

fraction of a second he set his hand over hers, an evanescent touch at which her whole body started and

She lifted her gloved hand and looked at it with an odd wonder; her alert emotions, always too ready, flinging

"Oh, I don't think it's soiled," he said, a speech which she punished with a look of starry contempt. For an

instant she made him afraid that something had gone wrong with his measuring tape; but with a slow

movement she set her hand softly against her hot cheek; and he was reassured: it was not his touching her that

She dropped her hand to her parasol, and began, musingly, to dig little holes in the gravel of the path.

"Thank heaven it isn't literally a goldmine, he exclaimed. "There have been so many crooked ones exploited

I don't believe you could get anybody nowadays to come in on a real one. But I think you'd make an excellent

partner for an adventurer who had discovered hidden treasure; and I'm that particular kind of adventurer. I

"Literally!" He laughed gayly. "If I don't `land' this I'm gone, smashed, finished quite ended! Don't bother,

I'm going to `land' it. And it's rather a serious compliment I'm paying you, thinking you can help me. I'd like

to see a woman just once in the world who could manage a thing like this." He became suddenly very

"Who knows, Miss Madison? I believe " He stopped abruptly, then in a lowered, graver voice asked:

"Doesn't it somehow seem a little queer to you when we call each other, `Miss Madison' and `Mr. Corliss'?"

"Doesn't it seem to you," he went on, in the same tone, "that we only `Miss' and `Mister' each other in fun?

That though you never saw me until yesterday, we've gone pretty far beyond mere surfaces? That we did in

"I don't know." She was barely audible; but she turned deliberately, and there took place an eager exchange

of looks which continued a long while. At last, and without ending this serious encounter, she whispered:

Mr. Corliss did not answer, and a peculiar phenomenon became vaguely evident to the girl facing him: his

eyes were still fixed full upon hers, but he was not actually looking at her; nevertheless, and with an

extraordinarily acute attention, he was unquestionably looking at something. The direct front of pupil and iris

did not waver from her; but for the time he was not aware of her; had not even heard her question. Something

in the outer field of his vision had suddenly and completely engrossed him; something in that nebulous and

hazy background which we see, as we say, with the white of the eye. Cora instinctively turned and looked

There was no one in sight except a little girl and the elderly burgess who had glanced over his shoulder at

Cora as she entered the park; and he was, in face, mien, and attire, so thoroughly the unnoticeable, average

manonthestreet that she did not even recall him as the lookerround of a little while ago. He was strolling

benevolently, the little girl clinging to one of his hands, the other holding an apple; and a composite

photograph of a thousand grandfathers might have resulted in this man's picture.

As the man and little girl came slowly up the walk toward the couple on the bench there was a faint tinkle at

Cora's feet: her companion's scarfpin, which had fallen from his tie. He was maladroit about picking it up,

trying with thumb and forefinger to seize the pin itself, instead of the more readily grasped design of small

pearls at the top, so that he pushed it a little deeper into the gravel; and then occurred a tiny coincidence: the

elderly man, passing, let fall the apple from his hand, and it rolled toward the pin just as Corliss managed to

secure the latter. For an instant, though the situation was so absolutely commonplace, so casual, Cora had a

wandering consciousness of some mysterious tensity; a feeling like the premonition of a crisis very near at

hand. This sensation was the more curious because nothing whatever happened. The man got his apple,

"What was it you asked me?" said Corliss, lifting his head again and restoring the pin to his tie. He gazed

carelessly at the back of the grandsire, disappearing beyond a bush at a bend in the path.

"That old fellow? I haven't an idea. You see I've been away from here so many years I remember almost no

"I don't know, unless it was because I had an idea you were thinking of him instead of me. You didn't listen

"That was because I was thinking so intensely of you," he began instantly. "A startlingly vivid thought of you

"It was a picture: I saw you standing under a great bulging sail, and the water flying by in moonlight; oh, a

moon and a night such as you have never seen! and a big blue headland looming up against the moon, and

crowned with lemon groves and vineyards, all sparkling with fireflies old watchtowers and the roofs of

white villas gleaming among olive orchards on the slopes the sound of mandolins "

"I think," he said slowly, "that I'm in danger of forgetting that my `hidden treasure' is the most important

He moved close to her; their eyes met again, with increased eagerness, and held fast; she was trembling,

visibly; and her lips parted with her tumultuous breathing were not far from his.

Toward four o'clock that afternoon, a very thin, fair young man shakily heaved himself into a hammock

under the trees in that broad backyard wherein, as Valentine Corliss had yesterday noticed, the last iron

monarch of the herd, with unabated arrogance, had entered domestic service as a clothesprop. The young

man, who was of delicate appearance and unhumanly pale, stretched himself at full length on his back, closed

his eyes, moaned feebly, cursed the heat in a stricken whisper. Then, as a locust directly overhead violently

shattered the silence, and seemed like to continue the outrage forever, the shaken lounger stopped his ears

A white jacketed mulatto came from the house bearing something on a silver tray.

Ray Vilas rustily manoeuvred into a sitting position; and, with eyes still closed, made shift to accept the julep

in both hands, drained half of it, opened his eyes, and thanked the cupbearer feebly, in a voice and accent

"I'm Miz William Lindley's houseman, Joe Vaxdens," said the mulatto, in the tone of an indulgent nurse.

"I seem to gather almost that much for myself," returned the patient. "But I should like to know how I got

"Jes' come out the front door an' walk' aroun' the house an' set down. Mist' Richard had to go downtown; tole

me not to wake you; but I heerd you splashin' in the bath an' you tole me you din' want no breakfuss "

"Yes, Joe, I'm aware of what's occurred since I woke," said Vilas, and, throwing away the straws, finished the

julep at one draught. "What I want to know is how I happened to be here at Mr. Lindley's."

"Mist' Richard brought you las' night, suh. I don' know where he got you, but I heered a considerable

thrashum aroun', up an' down the house, an' so I come help him git you to bed in one vem sparerooms." Joe

He took the glass, and the young man reclined again in the hammock, a hot blush vanquishing his pallor.

"Oh, you was all right," Joe hastened to reassure him. "You was jes' on'y a little bit tight."

"Yessuh," said Joe promptly. "Nothin' at all. You jes' wanted to rare roun' little bit. Mist' Richard took gun

"Oh, I tole him you wasn' goin' use it!" Joe laughed. "But you so wile be din' know what you do. You cert'n'y

was drunkes' man I see in long while," he said admiringly. "You pert near had us bofe wore out 'fore you give

up, an' Mist' Richard an' me, we use' to han'lin' drunkum man, too use' to have big times weekin,

weekout 'ith Mist' Will at's Mist' Richard's brother, you know, suh, what died o' whiskey." He laughed

again in high goodhumour. "You cert'n'y laid it all over any vem ole times we had 'ith Mist' Will!"

Mr. Vilas shifted his position in the hammock uneasily; Joe's honest intentions to be of cheer to the sufferer

"I tole Mist' Richard," the kindly servitor continued, "it was a mighty good thing his ma gone up Norf

endurin' the hot spell. Sence Mist' Will die she can't hardly bear to see drunkum man aroun' the house. Mist'

Richard hardly ever tech nothin' himself no more. You goin' feel better, suh, out in the f'esh air," he

Mr. Vilas pulled himself upright for a moment. "What use in the world do you reckon one julep is to me? "

"Mist' Richard say to give you one drink ef you ask' for it, suh," answered Joe, looking troubled.

"Well, you've told me enough now about last night to make any man hang himself, and I'm beginning to

"Pshaw, Mist' Vilas," the coloured man interrupted, deprecatingly, "you din' broke nothin'! You on'y had

couple glass' wine too much. You din' make no trouble at all; jes' went right off to bed. You ought seen some

The troubled expression upon the coloured man's face deepened. "Mist' Richard say jes' one, suh," he said

"I don't know," said Ray Vilas slowly, "whether or not you ever heard that I was born and raised in

"Well, then," said the young man in a quiet voice, "you go and get me three juleps. I'll settle it with Mr.

But it was with a fifth of these renovators that Lindley found his guest occupied, an hour later, while upon a

small table nearby a sixth, untouched, awaited disposal beside an emptied coffeecup. Also, Mr. Vilas was

smoking a cigarette with unshadowed pleasure; his eye was bright, his expression carefree; and he was

sitting up in the hammock, swinging cheerfully, and singing the "Marseillaise." Richard approached through

the yard, coming from the street without entering the house; and anxiety was manifest in the glance he threw

"Hail, gloom!" returned Mr. Vilas, cordially, and, observing the anxious glance, he swiftly removed the

untouched goblet from the table to his own immediate possession. "Two simultaneous juleps will enhance the

higher welfare, he explained airily. "Sir, your Mr. Varden was induced to place a somewhat larger order with

us than he protested to be your intention. Trusting you to exonerate him from all soandso and that these

few words, etcetera!" He depleted the elder glass of its liquor, waved it in the air, cried, "Health, host!" and

set it upon the table. "I believe I do not err in assuming my cupbearer's name to be Varden, although he

himself, in his simple AmericoAfricanism, is pleased to pluralize it. Do I fret you, host?"

"Not in the least," said Richard, dropping upon a rustic bench, and beginning to fan himself with his straw

hat. "What's the use of fretting about a boy who hasn't sense enough to fret about himself?"

"`Boy?'" Mr. Vilas affected puzzlement. "Do I hear aright? Sir, do you boy me? Bethink you, I am now the

shell of five mintjuleps plus, and am potvaliant. And is this mere capacity itself to be lightly boyed?

Again, do I not wear a man's garment, a man's garnitures? Heed your answer; for this serge, these flannels,

and these silks are yours, and though I may not fill them to the utmost, I do to the longmost, precisely. I am

the stature of a man; had it not been for your razor I should wear the beard of a man; therefore I'll not be

"Hadn't you better let me get Joe to bring you something to eat?" asked Richard.

"Eat?" Mr. Vilas disposed of the suggestion with mournful hauteur. "There! For the once I forgive you. Let

the subject never be mentioned between us again. We will tactfully turn to a topic of interest. My memories

of last evening, at first hazy and somewhat disconcerting, now merely amuse me. Following the pleasant

Spanish custom, I went aserenading, but was kidnapped from beneath the precious casement by by a

zealous arrival. Host, `zealous arrival' is not the julep in action: it is a triumph of paraphrase."

"Always bent on thoughts of the flesh," observed the other sadly. "Beds are for bodies, and I am become a

thing of spirit. My soul is grateful a little for your care of its casing. You behold, I am generous: I am able to

"Spare me your protests." The younger man waved his hand languidly. You wish not to confer upon this

His companion stopped swinging, allowed the hammock to come to rest; his air of badinage fell from him;

for the moment he seemed entirely sober; and he spoke with gentleness. "Mr. Lindley, if you please, I am still

"No need of that!" The speaker's former careless and boisterous manner instantly resumed possession. "You

must permit me to speak of a wholly fictitious lady, a creature of my wanton fancy, sir, whom I call Carmen.

It will enable me to relieve my burdened soul of some remarks I have long wished to address to your

"Let us imagine," continued Mr. Vilas, beginning to swing again, "that I thought I had won this Carmen

Lindley uttered an exclamation, shifted his position in his chair, and fixed a bored attention upon the passing

vehicles in the glimpse of the street afforded between the house and the shrubberies along the side fence. The

"She was a precocious huntress: early in youth she passed through the accumulator stage, leaving it to the

crude or village belle to rejoice in numbers and the excitement of teasing cubs in the bearpit. It is the nature

of this imagined Carmen to play fiercely with one imitation of love after another: a man thinks he wins her,

but it is merely that she has chosen him for a while. And Carmen can have what she chooses; if the man

exists who could show her that she cannot, she would follow him through the devil's dance; but neither you

nor I would be that man, my dear sir. We assume that Carmen's eyes have been mine her heart is another

matter and that she has grown weary of my somewhat Sicilian manner of looking into them, and,

following her nature and the law of periodicity which Carmens must bow to, she seeks a cooler gaze and calls

Mr. Richard Lindley to come and take a turn at looking. Now, Mr. Richard Lindley is straight as a die: he

will not even show that he hears the call until he is sure that I have been dismissed: therefore, I have no

quarrel with him. Also, I cannot even hate him, for in my clearer julep vision I see that he is but an

interregnum. Let me not offend my friend: chagrin is to be his as it is mine. I was a strong draught, he but the

quieting potion our Carmen took to settle it. We shall be brothers in woe some day. Nothing in the universe

lasts except Hell: Life is running water; Love, a lookingglass; Death, an empty theatre! That reminds me: as

"The heavenly stars far above her, The wind of the infinite sea, Who know all her perfidy, love her, So why

He set his glass with a crash upon the table, staring over his companion's shoulder.

"What, if you please, is the royal exile who thus seeks refuge in our hermitage?

His host had already observed the approaching visitor with some surprise, and none too graciously. It was

Valentine Corliss: he had turned in from the street and was crossing the lawn to join the two young men.

Lindley rose, and, greeting him with sufficient cordiality, introduced Mr. Vilas, who bestowed upon the

"You are as welcome, Mr. Corliss," said this previous guest, earnestly, "as if these sylvan shades were mine. I

hail you, not only for your own sake, but because your presence encourages a hope that our host may offer

Corliss smilingly declined to be a party to this diplomacy, and seated himself beside Richard Lindley on the

"Then I relapse!" exclaimed Mr. Vilas, throwing himself back fulllength in the hammock. "I am not replete,

He waved his hand in a gracious gesture, indicating his intention to remain silent, and lay quiet, his eyes fixed

"I was coming to call on you," said the latter to Lindley, "but I saw you from the street and thought you

"I have a sinister purpose in coming," Mr. Corliss laughingly went on. "I want to bore you a little first, and

then make your fortune. No doubt that's an old story to you, but I happen to be one of the adventurers whose

argosies are laden with real cargoes. Nobody knows who has or hasn't money to invest nowadays, and of

course I've no means of knowing whether you have or not you see what a direct chap I am but if you

have, or can lay hold of some, I can show you how to make it bring you an immense deal more."

"Then I'll come to the point. It is exceedingly simple; that's certainly one attractive thing about it." Corliss

took some papers and unmounted photographs from his pocket, and began to spread them open on the bench

between himself and Richard. "No doubt you know Southern Italy as well as I do."

"Oh, I don't `know' it. I've been to Naples; down to Paestum; drove from Salerno to Sorrentoby Amalfi; but

"Here's a large scale map that will refresh your memory." He unfolded it and laid it across their knees; it was

frayed with wear along the folds, and had been heavily marked and dotted with red and blue pencillings. "My

millions are in this large irregular section," he continued. "It's the anklebone and instep of Italy's boot; this

sizable province called Basilicata, east of Salerno, north of Calabria. And I'll not hang fire on the point,

"Hardly!" Corliss laughed. "Though of course one doesn't connect petroleum with the thought of Italy, and of

all Italy, Southern Italy. But in spite of the years I've lived there, I've discovered myself to be so essentially

American and commercial that I want to drench the surface of that antique soil with the brown, badsmelling

crude oil that lies so deep beneath it. Basilicata is the coming great oilfield of the world and that's my

"Shouldn't `dare'?" Richard repeated, with growing interest, and no doubt having some vague expectation of a

tale of the Camorra. To him Naples had always seemed of all cities the most elusive and incomprehensible, a

laughing, thieving, begging, mandolinplaying, musicandmurder haunted metropolis, about which

anything was plausible; and this impression was not unique, as no inconsiderable proportion of Mr. Lindley's

fellowcountrymen share it, a fact thoroughly comprehended by the returned native.

"It isn't a case of not daring on account of any bodily danger," explained Corliss.

"No," Richard smiled reminiscently. "I don't believe that would have much weight with you if it were. You

certainly showed no symptoms of that sort in your extreme youth. I remember you had the name of being

"I grew up to be cautious enough in business, though," said the other, shaking his head gravely. "I haven't

been able to afford not being careful." He adjusted the map a prefatory gesture. "Now, I'll make this whole

affair perfectly clear to you. It's a simple matter, as are most big things. I'll begin by telling you of Moliterno

he's been my most intimate friend in that part of the continent for a great many years; since I went there as

He sketched a portrait of his friend, Prince Moliterno, bachelor chief of a historic house, the soul of honour,

"landpoor"; owning leagues and leagues of land, hills and mountains, broken towers and ruins, in central

Basilicata, a province described as wild country and rough, off the rails and not easy to reach. Moliterno and

the narrator had gone there to shoot; Corliss had seen "surface oil" upon the streams and pools; he recalled

the discovery of oil near his own boyhood home in America; had talked of it to Moliterno, and both men had

Corliss described picturesquely the difficulties of this enterprise, the hardships and disappointments; how

they dragged the big tools over the mountains by mule power; how they had kept it all secret; how he and

Moliterno had done everything with the help of peasant labourers and one experienced man, who had "seen

He gave the business reality, colouring it with details relevant and irrelevant, anecdotes and wayside

incidents: he was fluent, elaborate, explicit throughout. They sank five wells, he said, "at the angles of this

irregular pentagon you see here on the map, outlined in blue. These red circles are the wells." Four of the

wells "came in tremendous," but they had managed to get them sealed after wasting he was "sorry to think

how many thousand barrels of oil." The fifth well was so enormous that they had not been able to seal it at

"But I had a cablegram this morning," he added, "letting me know they've managed to do it at last. Here is,

"Now, to go back to what I said about not `daring' to speak of this in Naples," he continued, smiling. "The

The knowledge of the lucky strike, he explained, must be kept from the "Neapolitan moneysharks." A third

of the land so rich in oil already belonged to the Moliterno estates, but it was necessary to obtain possession

of the other two thirds "before the secret leaks into Naples." So far, it was safe, the peasants of Basilicata

being "as medieval a lot as one could wish." He related that these peasants thought that the devils hiding

inside the mountains had been stabbed by the drills, and that the oil was devils' blood.

"You can see some of the country people hanging about, staring at a well, in this kodak, though it's not a very

good one." He put into Richard's hand a small, blurred photograph showing a spouting well with an indistinct

"Is this the Basilicatan peasant costume? asked Richard, indicating a figure in the foreground, the only one

revealed at all definitely. "It looks more oriental. Isn't the man wearing a fez?"

"Let me see," responded Mr. Corliss very quickly. "Perhaps I gave you the wrong picture. Oh, no," he

laughed easily, holding the kodak closer to his eyes; "that's all right: it is a fez. That's old Salviati, our

engineer, the man I spoke of who'd worked in Persia, you know; he's always worn a fez since then. Got in the

habit of it out there and says he'll never give it up. Moliterno's always chaffing him about it. He's a faithful

"I see." Lindley looked thoughtfully at the picture, which the other carelessly returned to his hand. "There

"It's one of the smaller wells at that. And you can see from the kodak that it's just `blowing' not an

eruption from being `shot,' or the people wouldn't stand so near. Yes; there's an ocean of oil under that whole

province; but we want a lot of money to get at it. It's mountain country; our wells will all have to go over

fifteenhundred feet, and that's expensive. We want to pipe the oil to Salerno, where the Standard's ships will

take it from us, and it will need a great deal for that. But most of all we want money to get hold of the land;

"I was getting to that. Moliterno himself is as honourable a man as breathes God's air. But my experience has

been that Neapolitan capitalists are about the cleverest and slipperiest financiers in the world. We could have

financed it twenty times over in Naples in a day, but neither Moliterno nor I was willing to trust them. The

thing is enormous, you see a really colossal fortune and Italian law is full of ins and outs, and the first

man we talked to confidentially would have given us his word to play straight, and, the instant we left him,

would have flown posthaste for Basilicata and grabbed for himself the two thirds of the field not yet in our

hands. Moliterno and I talked it over many, many times; we thought of going to Rome for the money, to

Paris, to London, to New York; but I happened to remember the old house here that my aunt had left me I

wanted to sell it, to add whatever it brought to the money I've already put in and then it struck me I might

"I suppose you'll think me rather sentimental," Corliss went on, with a laugh which unexpectedly betrayed a

little shyness. "I've never forgotten that I was born here was a boy here. In all my wanderings I've always

His voice trembled slightly and his face flushed; he smiled deprecatingly as though in apology for these

symptoms of emotion; and at that both listeners felt (perhaps with surprise) the man's strong attraction. There

was something very engaging about him: in the frankness of his look and in the slight tremor in his voice;

there was something appealing and yet manly in the confession, by this thoroughgoing cosmopolite, of his

"Of course I know how very few people, even among the `old citizens,' would have any recollection whatever

of me," he went on; "but that doesn't make any difference in my sentiment for the place and its people. That

street out yonder was named for my grandfather: there's a statue of my great uncle in the State House yard; all

my own blood: belonged here, and though I have been a wanderer and may not be remembered naturally

am not remembered yet the name is honoured here, and I I " He faltered again, then concluded

with quiet earnestness: "I thought that if my good luck was destined to bring fortunes to others, it might as

well be to my own kind that at least I'd offer them the chance before I offered it to any one else." He

"Thank you." Corliss changed his tone for one less serious. "You've listened very patiently and I hope you'll

be rewarded for it. Certainly you will if you decide to come in with us. May I leave the maps and descriptions

"Yes, indeed. I'll look them over carefully and have another talk with you about it."

"Thank heaven, that's over!" exclaimed the lounger in the hammock, who had not once removed his

fascinated stare from the expressive face of Valentine Corliss. "If you have now concluded with dull care,

The gentleman addressed favoured him with a quizzical glance from between halfclosed lids, and probably

checking an impulse to remark that he happened to know that his questioner sometimes sang, replied merely,

"Nothing," returned the other, inconsequently. It just struck me that you ought to sing the Toreador song."

Richard Lindley, placing the notes and maps in his pocket, dropped them, and, stooping, began to gather the

"That's most flattering," he said; "though there are other things in `Carmen' I prefer probably because one

Vilas pulled himself up to a sitting position and began to swing again. "Observe our host, Mr. Corliss," he

commanded gayly. "He is a kind old Dobbin, much beloved, but cares damn little to hear you or me speak of

music. He'd even rather discuss your oil business than listen to us talk of women, whereas nothing except

women ever really interests you, my dear sir. He's not our kind of man," he concluded, mournfully; "not at all

"I hope," Corliss suggested, "he's going to be my kind of man in the development of these oilfields."

"How ridic" Mr. Vilas triumphed over the word after a slight struggle "ulous! I shall review that:

ridiculous of you to pretend to be interested in oilfields. You are not that sort of person whatever. Nothing

could be clearer than that you would never waste the time demanded by fields of oil. Groundlings call this

`the mechanical age' a vulgar error. My dear sir, you and I know that it is the age of Woman! Even poets

have begun to see that she is alive. Formerly we did not speak of her at all, but of late years she has become

such a scandal that she is getting talked about. Even our dramas, which used to be all blood, have become all

flesh. I wish I were dead but will continue my harangue because the thought is pellucid. Women selecting

men to mate with are of only two kinds, just as there are but two kinds of children in a toyshop. One child

sets its fancy on one partic" the orator paused, then continued "on one certain toy and will make a

distressing scene if she doesn't get it: she will have that one; she will go straight to it, clasp it and keep it; she

won't have any other. The other kind of woman is to be understood if you will make the experiment of taking

the other kind of child to a toyshop and telling her you will buy her any toy in the place, but that you will

buy her only one. If you do this in the morning, she will still be in the shop when it is closing for the night,

delight, she sees another over her shoulder, and the one she has not touched is always her choice until she

has touched it! Some get broken in the handling. For my part, my wires are working rather rustily, but I must

obey the StageManager. For my requiem I wish somebody would ask them to play Gounod's masterpiece."

"I suppose you mean that for a cheerful way of announcing that you are a fatalist."

"Fatalism? That is only a word, declared Mr. Vilas gravely. "If I am not a puppet then I am a god. Somehow,

I do not seem to be a god. If a god is a god, one thinks he would know it himself. I now yield the floor.

Thanking you cordially, I believe there is a lady walking yonder who commands salutation."

He rose to his feet, bowing profoundly. Cora Madison was passing, strolling rather briskly down the street,

not in the direction of her home. She waved her parasol with careless gayety to the trio under the trees, and,

"Hello!" exclaimed Corliss, looking at his watch with a start of surprise. "I have two letters to write for the

At this, Ray Vilas's eyes still fixed upon him, as they had been throughout the visit opened to their

Entirely aware of this singular glare, but not in the least disconcerted by it, the recipient proffered his easy

farewells. "I had no idea it was so late. Good afternoon. Mr. Vilas, I have been delighted with your diagnosis.

Lindley, I'm at your disposal when you've looked over my data. My very warm thanks for your patience, and

Lindley looked after him as he strode quickly away across the green lawn, turning, at the street, in the

direction Cora had taken; and the troubled Richard felt his heart sink with vague but miserable apprehension.

There was a gasp of desperation beside him, and the sound of Ray Vilas's lips parting and closing with little

"So he knows her," said the boy, his thin body shaking. "Look at him, damn him! See his deep chest, that

conqueror's walk, the easy, confident, male pride of him: a trueborn, natural rake the Toreador all over!"

His agitation passed suddenly; he broke into a loud laugh, and flung a reckless hand to his companion's

Hedrick Madison, like too many other people, had never thought seriously about the moon; nor ever had he

encouraged it to become his familiar; and he underwent his first experience of its incomparable betrayals one

brilliant night during the last week of that hot month. The preface to this romantic evening was substantial

and prosaic: four times during dinner was he copiously replenished with hash, which occasioned so rich a

surfeit within him that, upon the conclusion of the meal, he found himself in no condition to retort

appropriately to a solicitous warning from Cora to keep away from the cat. Indeed, it was half an hour later,

and he was sitting to his own consciousness too heavily upon the back fence, when belated inspiration

arrived. But there is no sound where there is no ear to hear, and no repartee, alas! when the wretch who said

the first part has gone, so that Cora remained unscathed as from his alley solitude Hedrick hurled in the teeth

He renewed a morbid silence, and the moon, with its customary deliberation, swung clear of a sweeping

branch of the big elm in the front yard and shone full upon him. Nothing warned the fated youth not to sit

there; no shadow of imminent catastrophe tinted that brightness: no angel whisper came to him, bidding him

begone and to go in a hurry and as far as possible. No; he sat upon the fence an inoffensive lad, and

except for still feeling his hash somewhat, and a gradually dispersing rancour concerning the cat at peace.

It is for such lulled mortals that the everlurking Furies save their most hideous surprises.

Chin on palms, he looked idly at the moon, and the moon inscrutably returned his stare. Plausible, bright,

bland, it gave no sign that it was at its awful work. For the bride of night is like a carddealer whose fingers

This moon upon which he was placidly gazing, because he had nothing else to do, betokened nought to

Hedrick: to him it was the moon of any other night, the old moon; certainly no moon of his delight. Withal, it

may never be gazed upon so fixedly and so protractedly no matter how languidly with entire impunity.

That light breeds a bug in the brain. Who can deny how the moon wrought this thing under the hair of

It was a very soft, small voice, silky and queer; and at first Hedrick had little suspicion that it could be

addressing him: the most rigid selfanalysis could have revealed to him no possibility of his fitting so

He looked over his shoulder and saw, standing in the alley behind him, a girl of about his own age. She was

She was smiling up at him, and once more she used that wantonly inaccurate vocative:

For reply she began to climb the fence. It was high, but the young lady was astonishingly agile, and not even

to be deterred by several faint wails from tearing and ripping fabrics casualties which appeared to be

entirely beneath her notice. Arriving at the top rather dishevelled, and with irregular pennons here and there

flung to the breeze from her attire, she seated herself cosily beside the dumbfounded Hedrick.

She turned her face to him and smiled and there was something about her smile which Hedrick did not

like. It discomforted him; nothing more. In sunlight he would have had the better chance to comprehend; but,

"I won't!" exclaimed the shocked and indignant Hedrick, edging uneasily away from her.

The rather singular lack of connection in her remarks struck him as a misplaced effort at humour.

There was something more than uncommonly queer about this stranger, an unearthliness of which he was

confusedly perceptive, but she was not without a curious kind of prettiness, and her pale gold hair was

He instantly pushed her away with strong distaste. "There!" he said angrily. "I hope that'll satisfy you!" He

"Kiss me some more, darling little boy!" she cried, and flung her arms about him.

With a smothered shout of dismay he tried to push her off, and they fell from the fence together, into the

She smiled unwaveringly, rose (without assistance) and repeated: "Kiss me some more, darling little boy!"

Apparently, she did not consider this discouraging. She began to advance endearingly, while he retreated

"I won't, I tell you!" Hedrick kept stepping away, moving in a desperate circle. He resorted to a brutal

"Kiss me some more, darling little boy!" She flung herself at him, and with a yell of terror he turned and ran

She pursued, laughing sweetly, and calling loudly as she ran, "Kiss me some more, darling little boy! Kiss me

The stricken Hedrick knew not whither to direct his flight: he dared not dash for the street with this imminent

tattered incubus she was almost upon him and he frantically made for the kitchen door, only to swerve

with a gasp of despair as his foot touched the step, for she was at his heels, and he was sickeningly assured

she would cheerfully follow him through the house, shouting that damning refrain for all ears. A strangling

fear took him by the throat if Cora should come to be a spectator of this unspeakable flight, if Cora should

hear that horrid plea for love! Then farewell peace; indeed, farewell all joy in life forever!

Panting sobbingly, he ducked under the amorous vampire's arm and fled on. He zigzagged desperately to and

fro across the broad, empty backyard, a small hand ever and anon managing to clutch his shoulder, the awful

Emerging from the kitchen door, Laura stood and gazed in wonder as the two eerie figures sped by her,

circled, ducked, dodged, flew madly on. This commonplace purlieu was become the scene of a witchchase;

the moonlight fell upon the ghastly flitting face of the pursued, uplifted in agony, white, wet, with fay eyes;

also it illumined the unreal elf following close, a breezeblown fantasy in rags.

Laura uttered a sharp exclamation. "Stand still, Hedrick!" she called. "You must!"

"It's Lolita Martin," called Laura. "She must have her way or nothing can be done with her. Stand still!"

Hedrick had never heard of Lolita Martin, but the added information concerning her was not ineffective: it

"Stand still!" she cried to the wretched quarry. She's run away. She must be taken home. Stop, Hedrick! You

Hedrick had no intention of stopping, but Laura was a runner, and, as he dodged the other, caught and held

him fast. The next instant, Lolita, laughing happily, flung her arms round his neck from behind.

"She isn't quite right," his sister whispered hurriedly in his ear. "She has spells when she's weak mentally.

"We must get her home," said Laura anxiously. "Will you come with me, Lolita, dear?"

Apparently Lolita had no consciousness whatever of Laura's presence. Instead of replying, she tightened her

"Perhaps she'll go if you let her walk with her arms round your neck," suggested Laura.

"Let's try it. We've got to get her home; her mother must be frantic about her. Come, let's see if she'll go with

With convincing earnestness, Hedrick refused to make the experiment until Laura suggested that he remain

with Lolita while she summoned assistance; then, as no alternative appeared, his spirit broke utterly, and he

consented to the trial, stipulating with a last burst of vehemence that the progress of the unthinkable pageant

"Come, Lolita," said Laura coaxingly. "We're going for a nice walk." At the adjective, Hedrick's burdened

shoulders were racked with a brief spasm, which recurred as his sister added: "Your darling little boy will let

Lolita seemed content. Laughing gayly, she offered no opposition, but, maintaining her embrace with both

arms and walking somewhat sidewise, went willingly enough; and the three slowly crossed the yard, passed

through the empty stable and out into the alley. When they reached the crossstreet at the alley's upper end,

Laura expostulated, then entreated. Hedrick refused with sincere loathing to be seen upon the street

occupying his present position in the group. Laura assured him that there was no one to see; he replied that

the moon was bright and the evening early; he would die, and readily, but he would not set foot in the street.

Unfortunately, he had selected an unfavourable spot for argument: they were already within a yard or two of

the street; and a strange boy, passing, stopped and observed, and whistled discourteously.

"I'll thank you," returned Hedrick haughtily, "to go on about your own business."

The strange boy squawked, wailed, screamed with laughter, howled the loving petition in a dozen keys of

mockery, while Hedrick writhed and Lolita clung. Enriched by a new and great experience, the torturer

But the martyrdom was at an end. A woman, hurrying past, bareheaded, was greeted by a cry of delight from

"We were bringing her home, Mrs. Martin," said Laura, reassuringly. "She's all right; nothing's the matter

"I thank you a thousand times, Miss Madison," cried Lolita's mother, and flutteringly plunged into a

description of her anxiety, her search for Lolita, and concluded with renewed expressions of gratitude for the

child's safe return, an outpouring of thankfulness and joy wholly incomprehensible to Hedrick.

"Not at all," said Laura cheerfully. "Come, Hedrick. We'll go home by the street, I think." She touched his

shoulder, and he went with her in stunned obedience. He was not able to face the incredible thing that had

"Poor little girl!" said Laura gently, with what seemed to her brother an indefensibly misplaced compassion.

"Usually they have her live in an institution for people afflicted as she is, but they brought her home for a

visit last week, I believe. Of course you didn't understand, but I think you should have been more thoughtful.

"`Flirted'!" His voice was beginning to show symptoms of changing, this year; it rose to a falsetto wail,

With the departure of Lolita in safety, what had seemed bizarre and piteous became obscured, and another

aspect of the adventure was presented to Laura. The sufferings of the arrogant are not wholly depressing to

the spectator; and of arrogance Hedrick had ever been a master. She began to shake; a convulsion took her,

and suddenly she sat upon the curbstone without dignity, and laughed as he had never seen her.

A horrid distrust of her rose within him: he began to realize in what plight he stood, what terrors o'erhung.

"Look here," he said miserably, "are you you aren't you don't have to go and and talk about this, do

"No, Hedrick," she responded, rising and controlling herself somewhat. "Not so long as you're good."

Seemingly he heard the lash of a slavewhip crack in the air. The future grew dark.

"I know you'll try" she said; and the unhappy lad felt that her assurance was justified; but she had not

"No other little girl ever fell in love with you, did there, Hedrick?" she asked, and, receiving an incoherent

but furious reply, she was again overcome, so that she must lean against the fence to recover. "It seems so

so curious," she explained, gasping, "that the first one the the only one should be an a an

Hedrick's distrust became painfully increased: he began to feel that he disliked Laura.

She was still wiping her eyes and subject to recurrent outbursts when they reached their own abode; and as he

bitterly flung himself into a chair upon the vacant front porch, he heard her stifling an attack as she mounted

the stairs to her own room. He swung the chair about, with its back to the street, and sat facing the wall. He

saw nothing. There are profundities in the abyss which reveal no glimpse of the sky.

Presently he heard his father coughing near by; and the sound was hateful, because it seemed secure and

unshamed. It was a cough of moral superiority; and just then the son would have liked to believe that his

parent's boyhood had been one of degradation as complete as his own; but no one with this comfortable

cough could ever have plumbed such depths: his imagination refused the picture he was bitterly certain that

Hedrick had a dread that his father might speak to him; he was in no condition for light conversation. But Mr.

Madison was unaware of his son's near presence, and continued upon his purposeless way. He was smoking

his one nightly cigar and enjoying the moonlight. He drifted out toward the sidewalk and was accosted by a

passing acquaintance, a comfortable burgess of sixty, leading a child of six or seven, by the hand.

"Yes; just trying to cool off," returned the other. "How are you, Pryor, anyway? I haven't seen you for a long

"Not since last summer," said Pryor. "I only get here once or twice a year, to see my married daughter. I

always try to spend August with her if I can. She's still living in that little house, over on the next street, I

bought for her through your realestate company. I suppose you're still in the same business?"

"I suppose so, I suppose so," responded Mr. Pryor, nodding. "Summer, I suppose it usually is. Well, I don't

know when I'll be going out on the road again myself. Business is pretty slack all over the country this year."

"For a New York house," affirmed Mr. Pryor. He did not, however, mention his "line." "Yes sir," he added,

merely as a decoration, and then said briskly: "I see you have a fine family, Mr. Madison; yessir, a fine

family; I've passed here several times lately and I've noticed 'em: fine family. Let's see, you've got four,

"Well, sir, that's mighty nice," observed Mr. Pryor; mighty nice! I only have my one daughter, and of course

me living in New York when I'm at home, and her here, why, I don't get to see much of her. You got both

"Seems to me now," said Pryor, taking off his glasses and wiping them, "seems to me I did hear somebody

"Well, I suppose you'd be the first to know! Yessir." And both men laughed their appreciation of this folly.

"They're mighty goodlooking girls, that's certain," continued Mr. Pryor. "And one of 'em's as fine a dresser

"You mean in Paris?" asked Madison, slightly surprised at this allusion. "You've been over there, Pryor?"

"Oh, sometimes," was the response. "My business takes me over, now and then. "I think it's one of your

daughters I've noticed dresses so well. Isn't one of 'em a mighty pretty girl about twentyone or two, with a

fine head of hair sort of lightish brown, beautiful figure, and carries a white parasol with a green lining

"Pretty name, too," said Pryor approvingly. "Yessir. I saw her going into a florist's, downtown, the other

day, with a finelooking young fellow I can't think of his name. Let's see: my daughter was with me, and

"Corliss!" exclaimed Mr. Pryor, with satisfaction. "That's it, Corliss. Well, sir," he chuckled, "from the way

he was looking at your Miss Cora it struck me he seemed kind of anxious for her name to be Corliss, too."

"Well, hardly I expect," said the other. "They just barely know each other: he's only been here a few weeks;

"I suppose not," agreed Mr. Pryor, with perfect readiness. "I suppose not. "I'll bet he tries all he can to get

acquainted though; he looked pretty smart to me. Doesn't he come about as often as the law allows?"

"I shouldn't be surprised," said Madison indifferently. "He doesn't know many people about here any more,

and it's lonesome for him at the hotel. But I guess he comes to see the whole family; I left him in the library a

"That's the way! Get around the old folks first!" Mr. Pryor chuckled cordially; then in a mildly inquisitive

"What's this little girl's name?" Mr. Madison indicated the child, who had stood with heroic patience

"She is so! I've got a young son she ought to know," remarked Mr. Madison serenely, with an elderly father's

total unconsciousness of the bridgeless gap between seven and thirteen. "He'd like to play with her. I'll call

"I expect we better be getting on," said Pryor. "It's near Lottie's bedtime; we just came out for our evening

"Well, he can come and shake hands with her anyway," urged Hedrick's father. "Then they'll know each

other, and they can play some other time." He turned toward the house and called loudly:

There was no response. Behind the back of his chair Hedrick could not be seen. He was still sitting

"Oh, Hedrick!" shouted his father. "Come out here! I want you to meet a little girl! Come and see a nice

Mr. Pryor's grandchild was denied the pleasure. At the ghastly words "little girl," Hedrick dropped from his

chair flat upon the floor, crawled to the end of the porch, wriggled through the railing, and immersed himself

Here he removed his shoes, noiselessly mounted to the sill of one of the library windows, then reconnoitred

The gas burned low in the "droplight" almost too dimly to reveal the two people upon a sofa across the

room. It was a faint murmur from one of them that caused Hedrick to pause and peer more sharply. They

were Cora and Corliss; he was bending close to her; her face was lifting to his.

Hedrick dropped from the sill, climbed through a window of the kitchen, hurried up the backstairs, and

Villages are scattered plentifully over the unstable buttresses of Vesuvius, and the inhabitants sleep o' nights:

Why not? Quite unaware that he was much of their condition, Mr. Madison bade his incidental gossip and the

tiny Lottie goodnight, and sought his early bed. He maintained in good faith that Saturday night was "a

great night to sleep," because of the later hour for rising; probably having also some factitious conviction that

there prevailed a hush preparative of the Sabbath. As a matter of fact, in summer, the other members of his

family always looked uncommonly haggard at the Sunday breakfasttable. Accepting without question his

preposterous legend of additional matutinal slumber, they postponed retiring to a late hour, and were

awakened simultaneously with thousands of fellowsufferers at about halfafter five on Sunday

morning, by a journalistic uprising. Over the town, in these early hours, rampaged the small vendors of the

manifold sheets: local papers and papers from greater cities, hawker succeeding hawker with yell upon yell

and brainpiercing shrillings in unbearable cadences. No good burgher ever complained: the people bore it,

as in winter they bore the smoke that injured their health, ruined their linen, spoiled their complexions,

forbade all hope of beauty and comfort in their city, and destroyed the sweetness of their homes and of their

Of the Madison family, Cora probably suffered most; and this was the time when it was no advantage to have

the front bedroom. She had not slept until close upon dawn, and the hawkers woke her irreparably; she could

but rage upon her hot pillow. By and by, there came a token that another anguish kept company with hers.

She had left her door open for a better circulation of the warm and languid air, and from Hedrick's room

issued an "oof!" of agonized disgust. Cora little suspected that the youth reeked not of newsboys: Hedrick's

The cries from the street were interminable; each howler in turn heard faintly in the distance, then in

crescendo until he had passed and another succeeded him, and all the while Cora lay tossing and whispering

between clenched teeth. Having ample reason, that morning, to prefer sleep to thinking, sleep was impossible.

But she fought for it: she did not easily surrender what she wanted; and she struggled on, with closed eyes,

About a hundred yards from her windows, to the rear, were the open windows of a church which fronted the

next street, and stood dosados to the dwelling of the Madisons. The Sundayschool hour had been

advanced for the hot weather, and, partly on this account, and partly because of the summer absence of many

families, the attendants were few. But the young voices were conducted, rather than accompanied, in pious

melody by a cornetist who worthily thought to amend, in his single person, what lack of volume this paucity

occasioned. He was a slender young man in hot black clothes; he wore the unfacaded collar fatally and

unanimously adopted by all adam'sapple men of morals; he was washed, fair, flatskulled, cleanminded,

and industrious; and the only noise of any kind he ever made in the world was on Sunday.

"Prashus joowuls, sweet joowuls, thee jams off iz crowowun," sang the little voices feebly. They were almost

unheard; but the young man helped them out: figuratively, he put them out. And the cornet was heard: it was

heard for blocks and blocks; it was heard over all that part of the town in the vicinity of the church it was

the only thing that could be heard. In his daily walk this cornetist had no enemies: he was kindhearted; he

would not have shot a mad dog; he gladly nursed the sick. He sat upon the platform before the children; he

swelled, perspired and blew, and felt that it was a good blowing. If other thoughts vapoured upon the borders

of his mind, they were of the dinner he would eat, soon after noon, at the house of one of the frilled,

whitemuslin teachers. He was serene. His eyes were not blasted; his heart was not instantly withered; his

thin, bluish hair did not fall from his head; his limbs were not detached from his torso yet these

misfortunes had been desired for him, with comprehension and sincerity, at the first flat blat of his brassy

It is impossible to imagine the state of mind of this young cornetist, could he have known that he had caused

the prettiest girl in town to jump violently out of bed with what petitions upon her lips regarding his present

whereabouts and future detention! It happened that during the course of his Sunday walk on Corliss Street,

that very afternoon, he saw her was hardsmitten by her beauty, and for weeks thereafter laid

unsuccessful plans to "meet" her. Her image was imprinted: he talked about her to his boardinghouse friends

and office acquaintances, his favourite description being, "the sweetestlooking lady I ever laid eyes on."

Cora, descending to the breakfasttable rather white herself, was not unpleasantly shocked by the haggard

"Goodmorning, Cora," he said politely, and while she stared, in suspicious surprise, he passed her a plate of

toast with ostentatious courtesy; but before she could take one of the slices, "Wait," he said; "it's very nice

toast, but I'm afraid it isn't hot. I'll take it to the kitchen and have it warmed for you." And he took the plate

"There, Cora," said Hedrick kindly, when he brought the toast; "you'll find that nice and hot."

She regarded him steadfastly, but with modesty he avoided her eye. "You wouldn't make such a radical

change in your nature, Hedrick," she said, with a puzzled frown, "just to get out of going to church, would

"I don't want to get out of going to church," he said. He gulped slightly. "I like church."

And churchtime found him marching decorously beside his father, the three ladies forming a rear rank; a

small company in the very thin procession of fanning women and mopping men whose destination was the

gray stone church at the foot of Corliss Street. The locusts railed overhead: Hedrick looked neither to the

They passed a club, of which a lower window was vacated simultaneously with their coming into view; and a

small but ornate figure in pale gray crash hurried down the steps and attached itself to the second row of

Madisons. "Goodmorning," said Mr. Wade Trumble. "Thought I'd take a lookin at church this morning

Care of this encumbrance was usually expected of Laura and Mrs. Madison, but to their surprise Cora offered

a sprightly rejoinder and presently dropped behind them with Mr. Trumble. Mr. Trumble was also surprised

"What's happened?" he asked with cheerful frankness. "You haven't given me a chance to talk to you for a

This was too careless; it did not quite serve, even for Trumble. "What's up?" he asked, not without

"What nonsense! What have they got to do with my being nice to you?" She gave him a dangerous smile, and

Cora looked grave and sweet; she seemed mysteriously moved. "I never do anything I don't mean," she said

in a low voice which thrilled the little man. This was machinework, easy and accurate.

"There!" she exclaimed, shifting on the instant to a lively brusqueness. "That's enough for you just now.

"Have you got your penny for the contribution box?" she smiled. "I suppose you really give a great deal to

"I do pretty well," he returned, coolly. "You can know just how well, if you like."

"Not on Sunday," she laughed; then went on, admiringly, "I hear you're very dashing in your speculations."

"Then you've heard wrong, because I don't speculate," he returned. "I'm not a gambler except on

certainties. I guess I disappointed a friend of yours the other day because I wouldn't back him on a

"Corliss. He came to see me; wanted me to put real money into an oil scheme. Too thin!"

"Too far away, for one thing somewhere in Italy. Anybody who put up his cash would have to do it on

"Well?" She turned her face to him, and a faint perturbation was manifest in her tone. "Isn't Mr. Corliss's

"Oh, I suppose so, but I don't know. He isn't known here: nobody really knows anything about him except

that he was born here. Besides, I wouldn't make an investment on my own father's bare word, if he happened

"Perhaps not!" Cora spoke impulsively, a sudden anger getting the better of her, but she controlled it

immediately. "Of course I don't mean that," she laughed, sweetly. "But I happen to think Mr. Corliss's

scheme a very handsome one, and I want my friends to make their fortunes, of course. Richard Lindley and

"I'll bet they don't," said Trumble promptly. "Lindley told me he'd looked it over and couldn't see his way to."

Trumble began to laugh. "This is funny: you trying to talk business! So Corliss has been telling you about it?"

"Yes, he has; and I understand it perfectly. I think there's an enormous fortune in it, and you'd better not laugh

at me: a woman's instinct about such things is better than a man's experience sometimes."

"You'll find neither Lindley nor your father are going to think so," he returned skeptically.

She gave him a deep, sweet look. "But I mustn't be disappointed in you," she said, with the suggestion of a

"And wouldn't you take my advice in business, she asked very slowly and significantly "under any

She looked away, and slightly inclined her head. "No," he answered doggedly, "I wouldn't. You know mighty

well that's what I want you to be, and I'd give my soul for the tip of your shoe, but business is an entirely

"Wade! she said, with wonderful and thrilling sweetness. They had reached the church; Hedrick and his

father had entered; Mrs. Madison and Laura were waiting on the steps. Cora and Trumble came to a stop

"Can't do it," he said stubbornly. "If you ever make up your mind to marry me, I'll spend all the money you

"You make it pretty hard for me to be nice to you," she returned, and the tremor now more evident in her

"Yes I do. I wouldn't buy sightunseen to please God 'lmighty, Cora Madison." He looked at her shrewdly,

"Certainly!" He struck the pavement a smart rap with his walkingstick. "By George, I believe he did ask

you! That spoils church for me this morning; I'll not go in. When you quit playing games, let me know. You

needn't try to work me any more, because I won't stand for it, but if you ever get tired of playing, come and

tell me so." He uttered a bark of rueful laughter. "Ha! I must say that gentleman has an interesting way of

Under favourable circumstances the blow Cora dealt him might have been physically more violent.

"Goodmorning," she laughed, gayly. "I'm not bothering much about Mr. Corliss's oil in Italy. I had a bet

with Laura I could keep you from saying `I beg to differ,' or talking about the weather for five minutes. She'll

Then, still laughing, she lowered her parasol, and with superb impudence, brushed it smartly across his face;

turned on her heel, and, red with fury, joined her mother and sister, and went into the church.

The service failed to occupy her attention: she had much in her thoughts to distract her. Nevertheless, she

bestowed some wonderment upon the devotion with which her brother observed each ceremonial rite. He

joined in prayer with real fervour; he sang earnestly and loudly; a great appeal sounded in his changing voice;

and during the sermon he sat with his eyes upon the minister in a stricken fixity. All this was so remarkable

that Cora could not choose but ponder upon it, and, observing Hedrick furtively, she caught, if not a clue

itself, at least a glimpse of one. She saw Laura's clear profile becoming subtly agitated; then noticed a

shimmer of Laura's dark eye as it wandered to Hedrick and so swiftly away it seemed not to dare to remain.

Cora was quick: she perceived that Laura was repressing a constant desire to laugh and that she feared to look

at Hedrick lest it overwhelm her. So Laura knew what had wrought the miracle. Cora made up her mind to

When the service was over and the people were placidly buzzing their way up the aisles, Cora felt herself

drawn to look across the church, and following the telepathic impulse, turned her head to encounter the gaze

of Ray Vilas. He was ascending the opposite aisle, walking beside Richard Lindley. He looked less pale than

usual, though his thinness was so extreme it was like emaciation; but his eyes were clear and quiet, and the

look he gave her was strangely gentle. Cora frowned and turned away her head with an air of annoyance.

They came near each other in the convergence at the doors; but he made no effort to address her, and, moving

Valentine Corliss was disclosed in the vestibule. He reached her an instant in advance of Mr. Lindley, who

had suffered himself to be impeded; and Cora quickly handed the former her parasol, lightly taking his arm.

Thus the slow Richard found himself walking beside Laura in a scattered group, its detached portion

consisting of his nearbetrothed and Corliss; for although the dexterous pair were first to leave the church,

they contrived to be passed almost at once, and, assuming the position of trailers, lagged far behind on the

Laura and Richard walked in the unmitigated glare of the sun; he had taken her black umbrella and

conscientiously held it aloft, but over nobody. They walked in silence: they were quiet people, both of them;

and Richard, not "talkative" under any circumstances, never had anything whatever to say to Laura Madison.

He had known her for many years, ever since her childhood; seldom indeed formulating or expressing a

definite thought about her, though sometimes it was vaguely of his consciousness that she played the piano

nicely, and even then her music had taken its place as but a colour of Cora's background. For to him, as to

every one else (including Laura), Laura was in nothing her sister's competitor. She was a neutraltinted

figure, takenforgranted, obscured, and so near being nobody at all, that, as Richard Lindley walked beside

her this morning, he glanced back at the lagging couple and uttered a long and almost sonorous sigh, which

he would have been ashamed for anybody to hear; and then actually proceeded on his way without the

She understood. And she did not disturb the trance; she did nothing to make him observe that she was there.

She walked on with head, shoulders, and back scorching in the fierce sun, and allowed him to continue

shading the pavement before them with her umbrella. When they reached the house she gently took the

They had walked more than a mile together; he had not spoken a word, and he did not even know it.

Dinner on Sunday, the most elaborate feast of the week for the Madisons, was always set for one o'clock in

the afternoon, and sometimes began before two, but not today: the escorts of both daughters remained, and a

change of costume by Cora occasioned a long postponement. Justice demands the admission that her

reappearance in a glamour of lilac was reward for the delay; nothing more ravishing was ever seen, she was

warrantably informed by the quicker of the two guests, in a moment's whispered teteatete across the

banisters as she descended. Another wait followed while she prettily arranged upon the table some dozens of

asters from a small gardenbed, tilled, planted, and tended by Laura. Meanwhile, Mrs. Madison constantly

turned the other cheek to the cook. Laura assisted in the pacification; Hedrick froze the icecream to an

impenetrable solidity; and the nominal head of the family sat upon the front porch with the two young men,

and wiped his wrists and rambled politically till they were summoned to the diningroom.

Cora did the talking for the table, She was in high spirits; no trace remained of a haggard night: there was a

bloom upon her she was radiant. Her gayety may have had some inspiration in her daring, for round her

throat she wore a miraculously slender chain of gold and enamel, with a pendant of minute pale sapphires

scrolled about a rather large and very white diamond. Laura started when she saw it, and involuntarily threw

a glance almost of terror at Richard Lindley. But that melancholy and absentminded gentleman observed

neither the glance nor the jewel. He saw Cora's eyes, when they were vouchsafed to his vision, and when they

With the general exodus from the table, Cora asked Laura to come to the piano and play, a request which

brought a snort from Hedrick, who was taken off his guard. Catching Laura's eye, he applied a handkerchief

with renewed presence of mind, affecting to have sneezed, and stared searchingly over it at Corliss. He

perceived that the man remained unmoved, evidently already informed that it was Laura who was the

musician. Cora must be going it pretty fast this time: such was the form of her brother's deduction.

When Laura opened the piano, Richard had taken a seat beside Cora, and Corliss stood leaning in the

doorway. The player lost herself in a wandering medley, echoes from "Boheme" and "Pagliacci"; then drifted

into improvisation and played her heart into it magnificently a heart released to happiness. The still air of

the room filled with wonderful, golden sound: a song like the song of a mother flying from earth to a child in

the stars, a torrential tenderness, unpent and glorying in freedom. The flooding, triumphant chords rose,

crashed stopped with a shattering abruptness. Laura's hands fell to her sides, then were raised to her

glowing face and concealed it for a moment. She shivered; a quick, deep sigh heaved her breast; and she

She turned. Cora and Corliss had left the room. Richard was sitting beside a vacant chair, staring helplessly at

If he had been vaguely conscious of Laura's playing, which is possible, certainly he was unaware that it had

"The others have gone out to the porch," she said composedly, and rose. "Shan't we join them?"

"No, I " He got to his feet confusedly. "I was thinking I believe I'd best be going home."

"Mr. Corliss would," she retorted quickly. "Come on: we'll go and sit with them." And she compelled his

obedience by preceding him with such a confident assumption that he would follow that he did.

The fugitive pair were not upon the porch, however; they were discovered in the shade of a tree behind the

house, seated upon a rug, and occupied in a conversation which would not have disturbed a sickroom. The

pursuers came upon them, boldly sat beside them; and Laura began to talk with unwonted fluency to Corliss,

but within five minutes found herself alone with Richard Lindley upon the rug. Cora had promised to show

Lindley gave the remaining lady a desolate and faintly reproachful look. He was kind, but he was a man; and

She reddened, and, being not an angel, observed with crispness: "Certainly. You're quite right: it's my fault!"

She looked at him rather fixedly; his own gaze had returned to the angle of the house beyond which the other

couple had just disappeared. "I said," she answered, slowly, "I thought it wouldn't rain this, afternoon."

His wistful eyes absently swept the serene sky which had been cloudless for several days. "No, I suppose

"Richard," she said with a little sharpness, "will you please listen to me for a moment?"

"Oh what?" He was like a diver coming up out of deep water. "What did you say?" He laughed

"Why do you let Mr. Corliss take Cora away from you like that?" she asked gravely.

"He doesn't," the young man returned with a rueful shake of the head. "Don't you see? It's Cora that goes."

He sighed. "I don't seem to be able to keep up with Cora, especially when she's punishing me. I couldn't do

"Yes. It seemed to trouble her that I couldn't. She's convinced it's a good thing: she thinks it would make a

"When we're married. Yes," he said thoughtfully, "that's the way she stated it. She wanted me to put in all I

He glanced at her with sharp inquiry. "Do you mean you would distrust Mr. Corliss?'

"I wasn't thinking of that: I don't know whether I'd trust him or not I think I wouldn't; there's something

veiled about him, and I don't believe he is an easy man to know. What I meant was that I don't believe it

It's my work for all the years since I got out of college, and if I lost it I'd have to begin all over again. It would

mean postponing everything. Cora isn't a girl you can ask to share a little salary, and if it were a question of

He made this explanation with plaintive and boyish sincerity, hesitatingly, and as if pleading a cause. And

Laura, after a long look at him, turned away, and in her eyes were actual tears of compassion for the

"Of course," he went on, "she's fond of having nice things, and she thinks this is a great chance for us to be

millionaires; and then, too, I think she may feel that it would please Mr. Corliss and help to save him from

"He is attractive," continued Richard feebly. "I think he has a great deal of what people call `magnetism': he's

the kind of man who somehow makes you want to do what he wants you to. He seems a manly,

straightforward sort, too so far as one can tell and when he came to me with his scheme I was strongly

inclined to go into it. But it is too big a gamble, and I can't, though I was sorry to disappoint him myself. He

was perfectly cheerful about it and so pleasant it made me feel small. I don't wonder at all that Cora likes him

"And then he's `different,'" said Richard. "He's more a `man of the world' than most of us here: she never saw

anything just like him before, and she's seen us all her life. She likes change, of course. That's natural," he

said gently. "Poor Vilas says she wants a man to be different every day, and if he isn't, then she wants a

"Oh, no," he answered deprecatingly. "I only try to keep him with me so he'll stay away from downtown as

"All the time. There's no stopping him. I suppose he can't help it, because he thinks of nothing else."

"No, I suppose not!" She laughed impatiently. "And probably you don't think it's `queer' of you to sit here

"It won't take any effort now," she said, rising quickly. Valentine Corliss came into their view upon the

sidewalk in front, taking his departure. Seeing that they observed him, he lifted his hat to Laura and nodded a

Just before he reached the corner of the lot, he encountered upon the pavement a citizen of elderly and plain

appearance, strolling with a grandchild. The two men met and passed, each upon his opposite way, without

pausing and without salutation, and neither Richard nor Laura, whose eyes were upon the meeting, perceived

that they had taken cognizance of each other. But one had asked a question and the other had answered.

Mr. Pryor spoke in a low monotone, with a rapidity as singular as the restrained but perceptible emphasis he

"I got you in the park," he said; and it is to be deduced that "got" was argot. "You're not doing anything here,

"No!" answered Corliss with condensed venom, his back already to the other. He fanned himself with his hat

Before he disappeared, he looked back to her again (which profoundly surprised her) and smiled rather

disconsolately, shaking his head as in prophecy of no very encouraging reception indoors. The manner of this

glance recalled to Laura what his mother had once said of him. "Richard is one of those sweet, helpless men

that some women adore and others despise. They fall in love with the ones that despise them."

An ostentatious cough made her face about, being obviously designed to that effect; and she beheld her

brother in the act of walking slowly across the yard with his back to her. He halted upon the border of her

small garden of asters, regarded it anxiously, then spread his handkerchief upon the ground, knelt upon it, and

with thoughtful care uprooted a few weeds which were beginning to sprout, and also such vagrant blades of

grass as encroached upon the floral territory. He had the air of a virtuous man performing a good action

which would never become known. Plainly, he thought himself in solitude and all unobserved.

It was a touching picture, pious and humble. Done into coloured glass, the kneeling boy and the asters

submerged in ardent sunshine would have appropriately enriched a cathedral: Boyhood of Saint Florus the

Laura heartlessly turned her back, and, affecting an interest in her sleeve, very soon experienced the sensation

of being stared at with some poignancy from behind. Unchanged in attitude, she unravelled an imaginary

thread, whereupon the cough reached her again, shrill and loud, its insistence not lacking in pathos.

She approached him, driftingly. No sign that he was aware came from the busied boy, though he coughed

again, hollowly now a proof that he was an artist. "All right, Hedrick," she said kindly. "I heard you the

He looked up with utter incomprehension. "I'm afraid I've caught cold," he said, simply. "I got a good many

Hedrick was of the New School: everything direct, real, no striving for effect, no pressure on the stroke. He

"You mustn't strain so, dear," returned his sister, shaking her head. "It won't last if you do. You see this is

Struck to the heart by so brutal a misconception, he put all his wrongs into one look, rose in manly dignity,

Her eyes followed him, not without remorse: it was an exit which would have moved the bass violist of a

theatre orchestra. Sighing, she went to her own room by way of the kitchen and the backstairs, and, having

"I think I should not have played as I did, an hour ago," she wrote. "It stirs me too greatly and I am afraid it

makes me inclined to selfpity afterward, and I must never let myself feel that! If I once begin to feel sorry

for myself. . . . But I will not! No. You are here in the world. You exist. You are! That is the great thing to

know and it must be enough for me. It is. I played to You. I played just love to you all the yearning

tenderness all the supreme kindness I want to give you. Isn't love really just glorified kindness? No, there

is something more. . . . I feel it, though I do not know how to say it. But it was in my playing I played it

and played it. Suddenly I felt that in my playing I had shouted it from the housetops, that I had told the secret

to all the world and everybody knew. I stopped, and for a moment it seemed to me that I was dying of shame.

But no one understood. No one had even listened. . . . Sometimes it seems to me that I am like Cora, that I am

very deeply her sister in some things. My heart goes all to You my revelation of it, my release of it, my

outlet of it is all here in these pages (except when I play as I did today and as I shall not play again) and

perhaps the writing keeps me quiet. Cora scatters her own releasings: she is looking for the You she may

never find; and perhaps the penalty for scattering is never finding. Sometimes I think the seeking has reacted

and that now she seeks only what will make her feel. I hope she has not found it: I am afraid of this new man

not only for your sake, dear. I felt repelled by his glance at me the first time I saw him. I did not like it

I cannot say just why, unless that it seemed too intimate. I am afraid of him for her, which is a queer sort of

Laura's writing stopped there, for that day, interrupted by a hurried rapping upon the door and her mother's

The opening of the door revealed Mrs. Madison in a state of anxious perturbation, and admitted the sound of

"Please go down," implored the mother. "You can do more with her than I can. She and your father have been

Oh, come in, Laura!" cried her sister, as Laura appeared in the doorway. "Don't stand there! Come in if you

want to take part in a grand old family row!" With a furious and tearstained face, she was confronting her

father who stood before her in a resolute attitude and a profuse perspiration. "Shut the door!" shouted Cora

violently, adding, as Laura obeyed, "Do you want that little Pest in here? Probably he's eavesdropping

anyway. But what difference does it make? I don't care. Let him hear! Let anybody hear that wants to! They

can hear how I'm tortured if they like. I didn't close my eyes last night, and now I'm being tortured. Papa!"

"Pshaw," said Laura, laughing soothingly and coming to her. "You know that's nonsense, Cora. Kind old

papa couldn't do that if he tried. Dear, you know he never insulted anybody in his "

"Don't touch me!" screamed Cora, repulsing her. "Listen, if you've got to, but let me alone. He did too! He

"He does! He does!" cried Cora. "He said that I was I was too much `interested' in Mr. Corliss."

"It was the way he said it," Cora protested, sobbing. "He meant something he didn't say. He did! He did! He

I don't know what you're talking about. I said I couldn't understand your getting so excited about the fellow's

"Well, what if I do?" she screamed. Haven't I a right to be interested in what I choose? I've got to be

interested in something, haven't I? You don't make life very interesting, do you? Do you think it's interesting

to spend the summer in this horrible old house with the paper falling off the walls and our rotten old furniture

that I work my hands off trying to make look decent and can't, and every other girl I know at the seashore

with motorcars and motorboats, or getting a trip abroad and buying her clothes in Paris? What do you offer

The unfortunate man hung his head. "I don't see what all that has to do with it "

No, I don't. And I don't see why you're so crazy to please young Corliss about this business unless you're

infatuated with him. I had an idea and I was pleased with it, too, because Richard's a steady fellow that

"Engaged!" she cried, repeating the word with bitter contempt. "Engaged! You don't suppose I'll marry him

unless I want to, do you? I will if it suits me. I won't if it suits me not to; understand that! I don't consider

myself engaged to anybody, and you needn't either. What on earth has that got to do with your keeping

"He did!" stormed Cora. "He said he would if you went into it. He told me this afternoon, an hour ago

Cora stamped her foot again in frantic exasperation. "I'm talking about this afternoon!"

"Two days ago," he repeated doggedly; "and we came to the same conclusion: it won't do. He said he couldn't

go into it unless he went over there to Italy and saw for himself just what he was putting his money into,

and Corliss had told him that it couldn't be done; that there wasn't time, and showed him a cablegram from

his Italian partner saying the secret had leaked out and that they'd have to form the company in Naples and

sell the stock over there if it couldn't be done here within the next week. Corliss said he had to ask for an

"Oh, my God!" groaned Cora. "What has that got to do with your going into it? You're not going to risk any

money! I don't ask you to spend anything, do I? You haven't got it if I did. All Mr. Corliss wants is your

Well, if it isn't important, what difference does it make whether I give it or not?"

She flung up her arms as in despairing appeal for patience. "It is important to him! Richard will do it if you

will be secretary of the company: he promised me. Mr. Corliss told me your name was worth everything here:

that men said downtown you could have been rich long ago if you hadn't been so square. Richard trusts you;

"No!" Her vehemence increased suddenly to its utmost. "No! Don't you say that, because it's a lie. That isn't

the reason you won't do it. You won't do it because you think it would please me! You're afraid it might make

me happy! Happy happy happy!" She beat her breast and cast herself headlong upon the sofa, sobbing

wildly. "Don't come near me!" she screamed at Laura, and sprang to her feet again, dishevelled and frantic.

"Oh, Christ in heaven! is there such a thing as happiness in this beast of a world? I want to leave it. I want to

go away: I want so to die: Why can't I? Why can't I! Why can't I! Oh, God, why can't I die? Why can't

Her passion culminated in a shriek: she gasped, was convulsed from head to foot for a dreadful moment, tore

at the bosom of her dress with rigid bent fingers, swayed; then collapsed all at once. Laura caught her, and

got her upon the sofa. In the hall, Mrs. Madison could be heard running and screaming to Hedrick to go for

"I could only find these; the ammonia bottle's empty," she panted; and the miserable father started hatless, for

the drugstore, a faint, choked wail from the stricken girl sounding in his ears: "It's it's my heart,

It was four blocks to the nearest pharmacy; he made what haste he could in the great heat, but to himself he

seemed double his usual weight; and the more he tried to hurry, the less speed appeared obtainable from his

heavy legs. When he reached the place at last, he found it crowded with noisy customers about the

"sodafount"; and the clerks were stonily slow: they seemed to know that they were "already in eternity." He

got very short of breath on the way home; he ceased to perspire and became unnaturally dry; the air was

aflame and the sun shot fire upon his bare head. His feet inclined to strange disobediences: he walked the last

"Take this ammonia up," said Madison huskily, and sat down upon a lower step of the stairway with a jolt,

It seemed to Madison a long time that he sat there alone, and he felt very dizzy. Once he tried to rise, but had

to give it up and remain sitting with his eyes shut. At last he heard Cora's door open and close; and his wife

and the doctor came slowly down the stairs, Mrs. Madison talking in the anxious yet relieved voice of one

Her heart is all right," her companion assured her. "There's nothing serious; the trouble is nervous. I think

you'll find she'll be better after a good sleep. Just keep her quiet. Hadn't she been in a state of considerable

Madison got to his feet, and stepped down from the stairs for them to pass him. He leaned heavily against the

"No cause to worry," returned the physician. "You can let her stay in bed today if she wants to but "

He broke off, looking keenly at Madison's face, which was the colour of poppies. "Hello! what's up with

"Oh, you are?" retorted Sloane with sarcasm. "Sit down," he commanded. "Sit right where you are on the

stairs, here," and, having enforced the order, took a stethoscope from his pocket. "Get him a glass of water,"

"Doctor!" exclaimed Mrs. Madison. "He isn't going to be sick, is he? You don't think he's sick now?"

"I shouldn't call him very well," answered the physician rather grimly, placing his stethoscope upon

Madison's breast. "Get his room ready for him." She gave him a piteous look, struck with fear; then obeyed a

"You're not so darned all right," said Sloane coolly, as he pocketed his stethoscope. "Come, let me help you

There was an effort at protest, but the physician had his way, and the two ascended the stairs slowly, Sloane's

"We'll pass that up just now," returned the other brusquely, and led him on. Madison was almost helpless: he

murmured in a husky, uncertain voice, and suffered himself to be put to bed. There, the doctor "worked" with

him; cold "applications" were ordered; Laura was summoned from the other sickbed; Hedrick sent flying

with prescriptions, then to telephone for a nurse. The two women attempted questions at intervals, but Sloane

"Do you think I'm a a pretty sick man, Sloane?" asked Madison after a long silence, speaking with

"Don't you go to confessing your sins," said Doctor Sloane crossly. "You're coming out of the woods all

right, and you'll be sorry if you tell her too, much. I'll begin a little flirtation with you, Miss Laura, if you

"Your father is pretty sick, he told her, "and he may be sicker before we get him into shape again. But you

needn't be worried right now; I think he's not in immediate danger." He turned at the sound of Mrs. Madison's

step, behind him, and repeated to her what he had just said to Laura. "I hope your husband didn't give himself

away enough to be punished when we get him on his feet again," he concluded cheerfully.

She shook her head, tried to smile through tears, and, crossing the hall, entered Cora's room. She came back

after a moment, and, rejoining the other two at her husband's bedside, found the sick man in a stertorous

sleep. Presently the nurse arrived, and upon the physician's pointed intimation that there were "too many

people around," Laura went to Cora's room. She halted on the threshold in surprise. Cora was dressing.

"Mamma says the doctor says he's all right," said Cora lightly, "and I'm feeling so much better myself I

thought I'd put on something loose and go downstairs. I think there's more air down there."

"Papa isn't all right, dear," said Laura, staring perplexedly at Cora's idea of "something loose," an equipment

"I don't believe it," returned Cora promptly. "Old Sloane never did know anything. Besides, mamma told me

"No `immediate' danger," corrected Laura. "And besides, Doctor Sloane said you were to stay in bed until

"I can't help that." Cora went on with her lacing impatiently. "I'm not going to lie and stifle in this heat when

I feel perfectly well again not for an old idiot like Sloane! He didn't even have sense enough to give me

any medicine." She laughed. "Lucky thing he didn't: I'd have thrown it out of the window. Kick that slipper to

Laura knelt and put the slipper on her sister's foot. "Cora, dear," she said, "you're just going to put on a

"Laura!" The tone was more than impatient. "I wish I could be let alone for five whole minutes some time in

my life! Don't you think I've stood enough for one day? I can't bear to be questioned, questioned, questioned!

What do you do it for? Don't you see I can't stand anything more? If you can't let me alone I do wish you'd

Laura rose and went out; but as she left the door, Cora called after her with a rueful laugh: "Laura, I know I'm

Half an hour later, Laura, suffering because she had made no reply to this peaceoffering, and wishing to

atone, sought Cora downstairs and found no one. She decided that Cora must still be in her own room; she

would go to her there. But as she passed the open front door, she saw Cora upon the sidewalk in front of the

house. She wore a new and elaborate motoring costume, charmingly becoming, and was in the act of

mounting to a seat beside Valentine Corliss in a long, powerfullooking, white "roadster" automobile. The

engine burst into staccato thunder, sobered down; the wheels began to move both Cora and Corliss were

laughing and there was an air of triumph about them Cora's veil streamed and fluttered: and in a flash they

Laura stared at the suddenly vacated space where they had been. At a thought she started. Then she rushed

"Mamma," whispered Laura, flinging herself upon her knees beside her, "when papa wanted to speak to you,

"Yes, dear. He told me to tell her he was sorry he'd made her sick, and that if he got well he'd try to do what

Laura nodded cheerfully. "And he will get well, darling mother," she said, as she rose. "I'll come back in a

Her return was not so quick as she promised, for she lay a long time weeping upon her pillow, whispering

Within a week Mr. Madison's illness was a settled institution in the household; the presence of the nurse lost

novelty, even to Hedrick, and became a part of life; the day was measured by the three regular visits of the

doctor. To the younger members of the family it seemed already that their father had always been sick, and

that he always would be; indeed, to Cora and Hedrick he had become only a weak and querulous voice

beyond a closed door. Doctor Sloane was serious but reassuring, his daily announcement being that his

Mrs. Madison did not share her children's sanguine adaptability; and, of the three, Cora was the greatest

solace to the mother's troubled heart, though Mrs. Madison never recognized this without a sense of injustice

to Laura, for Laura now was housewife and housekeeper that is, she did all the work except the cooking,

and on "washday" she did that. But Cora's help was to the very spirit itself, for she was sprightly in these

hours of trial: with indomitable gayety she cheered her mother, inspiring in her a firmer confidence, and,

most stimulating of all, Cora steadfastly refused to consider her father's condition as serious, or its outcome

Old Sloane exaggerated, she said; and she made fun of his gravity, his clothes and his walk, which she

mimicked till she drew a reluctant and protesting laugh from even her mother. Mrs. Madison was sure she

"couldn't get through" this experience save for Cora, who was indeed the light of the threatened house.

Strange perversities of this world: Cora's gayety was almost unbearable to her brother. Not because he

thought it either unfeeling or out of place under the circumstances (an aspect he failed to consider), but

because years of warfare had so frequently made him connect cheerfulness on her part with some unworthily

won triumph over himself that habit prevailed, and he could not be a witness of her high spirits without a

strong sense of injury. Additionally, he was subject to a deeply implanted suspicion of any appearance of

unusual happiness in her as having source, if not in his own defeat, then in something vaguely "soft" and

wholly distasteful. She grated upon him; he chafed, and his sufferings reached the surface. Finally, in a

reckless moment, one evening at dinner, he broke out with a shout and hurled a newly devised couplet

concerning luvaly slush at his, sister's head. The nurse was present: Cora left the table; and Hedrick later

received a serious warning from Laura. She suggested that it might become expedient to place him in Cora's

"Cora knows perfectly well that something peculiar happened to you," she advised him. "And she knows that

I know what it was; and she says it isn't very sisterly of me not to tell her. Now, Hedrick, there was no secret

about it; you didn't confide your your trouble to me, and it would be perfectly honourable of me to tell it. I

wont{sic} unless you make me, but if you can't be polite and keep peace with Cora at least while papa is

sick I think it may be necessary. I believe," she finished with imperfect gravity, "that it it would keep

The thoughts of a boy may be long, long thoughts, but he cannot persistently remember to fear a threatened

catastrophe. Youth is too quickly intimate with peril. Hedrick had become familiar with his own, had grown

so accustomed to it he was in danger of forgetting it altogether; therefore it was out of perspective. The

episode of Lolita had begun to appear as a thing of the distant and clouded past: time is so long at thirteen.

Added to this, his late immaculate deportment had been, as Laura suggested, a severe strain; the machinery of

his nature was out of adjustment and demanded a violent reaction before it could get to running again at

average speed. Also, it is evident that his destruction had been planned on high, for he was mad enough to

"Tell her! Go on and tell her I give you leaf! That wasn't anything anyway just helped you get a little

idiot girl home. What is there to that? I never saw her before; never saw her again; didn't have half as much to

do with her as you did yourself. She was a lot more your friend than mine; I didn't even know her. I guess

you'll have to get something better on me than that, before you try to boss this ranch, Laura Madison!"

That night, in bed, he wondered if he had not been perhaps a trifle rash; but the day was bright when he

awoke, and no apprehension shadowed his morning face as he appeared at the breakfast table. On the

contrary, a great weight had lifted from him; clearly his defiance had been the proper thing; he had shown

Laura that her power over him was but imaginary. Hypnotized by his own words to her, he believed them;

and his previous terrors became gossamer; nay, they were now merely laughable. His own remorse and

shame were wholly blotted from memory, and he could not understand why in the world he had been so

afraid, nor why he had felt it so necessary to placate Laura. She looked very meek this morning. That

showed! The strong hand was the right policy in dealing with women. He was tempted to insane daring: the

"She never thinks of anything else these days, he retorted. "Rides with him every evening in his perinsley

"Really, you should be more careful about the way you handle a spoon, Hedrick," said Cora languidly, and

with at least a foundation of fact. "It is not the proper implement for decorating the cheeks. We all need

nourishment, but it is so difficult when one sees a deposit of breakfastfood in the ear of one's visavis."

Hedrick too impulsively felt of his ears and was but the worse stung to find them immaculate and the latter

"Spoon!" he cried. "I wouldn't talk about spoons if I were you, Coralee! After what I saw in the library the

other night, believe me, you're the one of this family that better be careful how you `handle a spoon'!"

Cora had a moment of panic. She let the cup she was lifting drop noisily upon its saucer, and gazed whitely at

"Oh, no!" he went on, with a dreadful laugh. I didn't hear you asking this Corliss to kiss you! Oh, no!"

At this, though her mother and Laura both started, a faint, odd relief showed itself in Cora's expression. She

"You little liar!" she flashed, and, with a single quick look at her mother, as of one too proud to appeal, left

"Hedrick, Hedrick, Hedrick!" wailed Mrs. Madison. "And she told me you drove her from the table last night

too, right before Miss Peirce!" Miss Peirce was the nurse, fortunately at this moment in the sickroom.

Burning with outrage, he also left his meal unfinished and departed in high dignity. He passed through the

kitchen, however, on his way out of the house; but, finding an unusual politeness to the cook nothing except

its own reward, went on his way with a bitter perception of the emptiness of the world and other places.

"Your father managed to talk more last night," said Mrs. Madison pathetically to Laura. "He made me

understand that he was fretting about how little we'd been able to give our children; so few advantages; it's

always troubled him terribly. But sometimes I wonder if we've done right: we've neither of us ever exercised

any discipline. We just couldn't bear to. You see, not having any money, or the things money could buy, to

give, I think we've instinctively tried to make up for it by indulgence in other ways, and perhaps it's been a

bad thing. Not," she added hastily, "not that you aren't all three the best children any mother and father ever

had! He said so. He said the only trouble was that our children were too good for us." She shook her head

remorsefully throughout Laura's natural reply to this; was silent a while; then, as she rose, she said timidly,

not looking at her daughter: "Of course Hedrick didn't mean to tell an outright lie. They were just talking, and

perhaps he perhaps he heard something that made him think what he did. People are so often mistaken in

"Isn't it more likely," said Laura, gravely, "that Cora was telling some story or incident, and that Hedrick

overheard that part of it, and thought she was speaking directly to Mr. Corliss?"

"Of course!" cried the mother with instant and buoyant relief; and when the three ladies convened, a little

later, Cora (unquestioned) not only confirmed this explanation, but repeated in detail the story she had related

Hedrick passed a variegated morning among comrades. He obtained prestige as having a father liketodie,

but another boy turned up who had learned to chew tobacco. Then Hedrick was pronounced inferior to others

in turning "cartwheels," but succeeded in a wrestling match for an apple, which he needed. Later, he was

chased emptyhanded from the rear of an icewagon, but greatly admired for his retorts to the vociferous

chaser: the other boys rightly considered that what he said to the iceman was much more horrible than what

the iceman said to him. The iceman had a fair vocabulary, but it lacked pliancy; seemed stiff and fastidious

compared with the flexible Saxon in which Hedrick sketched a family tree lacking, perhaps, some plausibility

He came home at noon with the flush of this victory new upon his brow. He felt equal to anything, and upon

Cora's appearing at lunch with a blithe, bright air and a new arrangement of her hair, he opened a fresh

"Earmuffs in style for September, are they? he inquired in allusion to a symmetrical and becoming

undulation upon each side of her head. "Too bad Ray Vilas can't come any more; he'd like those, I know he

Cora, who was talking jauntily to her mother, went on without heeding. She affected her enunciation at times

with a slight lisp; spoke preciously and overexquisitely, purposely mincing the letter R, at the same time

assuming a manner of artificial distinction and conscious elegance which never failed to produce in her

brother the last stage of exasperation. She did this now. Charming woman, that dear Mrs. Villard, she

prattled. "I met her downtown this morning. Dear mamma, you should but have seen her delight when she

"`Bawhawbaw'!" Poor Hedrick was successfully infuriated immediately. "What in thunder is

"She had no idea she should find me in town, she said," Cora ran on, happily. "She came back early on

account of the children having to be sent to school. She has such adorable children beautiful, dimpled

" And her dear son, Egerton Villard, he's grown to be such a comely lad, and he has the most charming

courtly manners: he helped his mother out of her carriage with all the air of a man of the world, and bowed to

me as to a duchess. I think he might be a great influence for good if the dear Villards would but sometimes let

him associate a little with our unfortunate Hedrick. Egerton Villard is really distingue; he has a beautiful

head; and if he could be induced but to let Hedrick follow him about but a little "

"I'll beat his beautiful head off for him if he but butts in on me but a little!" Hedrick promised earnestly.

"Oh, no," she said pleasantly. "Don't you think if I were really an idiot I'd be even fonder of you than I am?"

It took his breath. In a panic he sat waiting he knew not what; but Cora blandly resumed her interrupted

remarks to her mother, beginning a description of Mrs. Villard's dress; Laura was talking unconcernedly to

Miss Peirce; no one appeared to be aware that anything unusual had been said. His breath came back, and,

summoning his presence of mind, he found himself able to consider his position with some degree of

assurance. Perhaps, after all, Cora's retort had been merely a coincidence. He went over and over it in his

mind, making a pretence, meanwhile, to be busy with his plate. "If I were really an idiot." . . . It was the

"really" that troubled him. But for that one word, he could have decided that her remark was a coincidence;

but "really" was ominous; had a sinister ring. "If I were really an idiot!" Suddenly the pleasant clouds that had

obscured his memory of the fatal evening were swept away as by a monstrous Hand: it all came back to him

with sickening clearness. So is it always with the sinner with his sin and its threatened discovery. Again, in

his miserable mind, he sat beside Lolita on the fence, with the moon shining through her hair; and he knew

for he had often read it that a man could be punished his whole life through for a single moment's

weakness. A man might become rich, great, honoured, and have a large family, but his one soft sin would

follow him, hunt him out and pull him down at last. "Really an idiot!" Did that relentless Comanche, Cora,

know this Thing? He shuddered. Then he fell back upon his faith in Providence. It could not be that she

knew! Ah, no! Heaven would not let the world be so bad as that! And yet it did sometimes become negligent

he remembered the case of a babygirl cousin who fell into the bathtub and was drowned. Providence

"Why, Hedrick," said Cora, turning toward him cheerfully, "you're not really eating anything; you're only

pretending to." His heart sank with apprehension. Was it coming? "You really must eat," she went on.

"School begins so soon, you must be strong, you know. How we shall miss you here at home during your

With that, the burden fell from his shoulders, his increasing terrors took wing. If Laura had told his ghastly

secret to Cora, the latter would not have had recourse to such weak satire as this. Cora was not the kind of

person to try a popgun on an enemy when she had a thirteeninch gun at her disposal; so he reasoned; and in

"You're a little too cocky lately, Coralee: I wish you were my daughter just about five minutes!"

Cora looked upon him fondly. "What would you do to me," she inquired with a terrible sweetness darling

Hedrick's head swam. The blow was square in the face; it jarred every bone; the world seemed to topple. His

mother, rising from her chair, choked slightly, and hurried to join the nurse, who was already on her way

upstairs. Cora sent an affectionate laugh across the table to her stunned antagonist.

"You wouldn't beat me, would you, dear? she murmured. "I'm almost sure you wouldn't; not if I asked you to

All doubt was gone, the last hope fled! The worst had arrived. A vision of the awful future flamed across his

staggered mind. The doors to the arena were flung open: the wild beasts howled for hunger of him; the

. . . "Dear, Would thou wert near To hear me tell how fair thou art! Since thou art gone I mourn all alone, Oh,

She broke off to explain: "It's one of those passionate little Spanish serenades, Hedrick. I'll sing it for your

boyfriends next time they come to play in the yard. I think they'd like it. When they know why you like it so

much, I'm sure they will. Of course you do like it you roguish little lover! "A spasm rewarded this

Oh, my Lolita, come to my heart: Oh, come beloved, love let me press thee, While I caress thee In one long

Hedrick sprang to his feet with a yell of agony. "Laura Madison, you tattletale," he bellowed, "I'll never

forgive you as long as I live! I'll get even with you if it takes a thousand years!"

With that, and pausing merely to kick a rung out of a chair which happened to be in his way, he rushed from

His sisters had risen to go, and Cora flung her arms round Laura in ecstacy. "You mean old viper!" she cried.

"You could have told me days ago! It's almost too good to be true: it's the first time in my whole life I've felt

Laura shook her head. "My conscience troubles me; it did seem as if I ought to tell you and mamma

thought so, too; and I gave him warning, but now that I have done it, it seems rather mean and "

"No!" exclaimed Cora. "You just gave me a chance to protect myself for once, thank heaven!" And she

"Oh, Laura," cried the younger girl, "I am having the best time, these days! This just caps it." She lowered her

voice, but her eyes grew even brighter. "I think I've shown a certain gentleman a few things he didn't

"Val," returned Cora lightly; "Valentine Corliss. I think he knows a little more about women than he did

"You've had a difference with him?" asked Laura with eager hopefulness. "You've broken with him?"

"Oh, Lord, no! Nothing like that." Cora leaned to her confidentially. "He told me, once, he'd be at the feet of

any woman that could help put through an affair like his oil scheme, and I decided I'd just show him what I

could do. He'd talk about it to me; then he'd laugh at me. That very Sunday when I got papa to go in "

"But he didn't," said Laura helplessly. "He only said he'd try to when he gets well."

"It's all the same and it'll be a great thing for him, too," said Cora, gayly. "Well, that very afternoon before

Val left, he practically told me I was no good. Of course he didn't use just those words that isn't his way

but he laughed at me. And haven't I shown him! I sent Richard a note that very night saying papa had

consented to be secretary of the company, and Richard had said he'd go in if papa did that, and he couldn't

"Laura" Cora spoke with sudden gravity "did you ever know anybody like me? I'm almost getting

superstitious about it, because it seems to me I always get just what I set out to get. I believe I could have

"I hope so, if you tried for something good for you," said Laura sadly. "Cora, dear, you will you will be a

Mr. Trumble's offices were heralded by a neat blazon upon the principal door, "Wade J. Trumble, Mortgages

and Loans"; and the gentleman thus comfortably, proclaimed, emerging from that door upon a September

noontide, burlesqued a start of surprise at sight of a figure unlocking an opposite door which exhibited the

"Water!" murmured Mr. Trumble, affecting to faint. "You ain't going in there, are you, Ray?" He followed

the other into the office, and stood leaning against a bookcase, with his hands in his pockets, while Vilas

raised the two windows, which were obscured by a film of smokedeposit: there was a thin coat of fine sifted

dust over everything. "Better not sit down, Ray," continued Trumble, warningly. "You'll spoil your clothes

and you might get a client. That word `Probate' on the door ain't going to keep 'em out forever. You recognize

the old place, I s'pose? You must have been here at least twice since you moved in. What's the matter? Dick

Lindley hasn't missionaried you into any idea of working, has he? Oh, no, I see: the Richfield Hotel bar has

"Have you heard how old man Madison is today? asked Ray, dusting his fingers with a handkerchief.

Trumble began hotly: "I beg to dif " but checked himself, manifesting a slight confusion. "That is, I

know they don't. Old Madison may live a while, if you call that getting well; but he'll never be the same man

he was. Doctor Sloane says it was a bad stroke. Says it was `induced by heat prostration and excitement.'

`Excitement!'" he repeated with a sour laugh. "Yep, I expect a man could get all the excitement he wanted in

that house, especially if he was her daddy. Poor old man, I don't believe he's got five thousand dollars in the

Ray opened a compartment beneath one of the bookcases, and found a bottle and some glasses. "Aha," he

muttered, "our janitor doesn't drink, I perceive. Join me?" Mr. Trumble accepted, and Ray explained,

cheerfully: "Richard Lindley's got me so cowed I'm afraid to go near any of my old joints. You see, he trails

me; the scoundrel has kept me sober for whole days at a time, and I've been mortified, having old friends see

me in that condition; so I have to sneak up here to my own office to drink to Cora, now and then. You mustn't

The little man addressed grew red with the sharp, resentful memory. "Oh, nothing! Just struck me in the face

with her parasol on the public street, that's all!" He gave an account of his walk to church with Cora. "I'm

through with that girl!" he exclaimed vindictively, in conclusion. "It was the damnedest thing you ever saw in

your life: right in broad daylight, in front of the church. And she laughed when she did it; you'd have thought

she was knocking a puppy out of her way. She can't do that to me twice, I tell you. What the devil do you see

"You'll be around," returned his companion, refilling the glasses, "asking for more, the first chance she gives

And I'm through with her for good, I tell you! I'm not your kind: I don't let a girl like that upset me till I can't

think of anything else, and go making such an ass of myself that the whole town gabbles about it. Cora

Madison's seen the last of me, I'll thank you to notice. She's never been halfdecent to me; cut dances with

me all last winter; kept me hanging round the outskirts of every crowd she was in; stuck me with Laura and

her mother every time she had a chance; then has the nerve to try to use me, so's she can make a bigger hit

with a new man! You can bet your head I'm through! She'll get paid though! Oh, she'll get paid for it!"

It was a difficult question. "You wait and see," responded the threatener, feebly. "Just wait and see. She's

wild about this Corliss, I tell you," he continued, with renewed vehemence. "She's crazy about him; she's lost

"Do you know," said Ray slowly, glancing over his glass at his nervous companion, "it doesn't strike me that

"He has the air to me," observed Mr. Trumble, of a darned bad lot! But I have to hand it to him: he's a wizard.

He's got something besides his good looks a man that could get Cora Madison interested in `business'! In

His companion began to laugh again. "You don't really suppose he talked his oil business to her, do you,

"Oh, no, Cora herself never talks upon any subject but one; she never listens to any other either."

"If Cora asks you if you think it will rain," interrupted Vilas, "doesn't she really seem to be asking: `Do you

love me? How much?' Suppose Mr. Corliss is an expert in the same line. Of course he can talk about oil!"

"He strikes me," said Trumble, as just about the slickest customer that ever hit this town. I like Richard

Lindley, and I hope he'll see his fifty thousand dollars again. I wouldn't have given Corliss thirty cents."

"I don't say that," returned Trumble. "All I know about him is that he's done some of the finest work to get

fifty thousand dollars put in his hands that I ever heard of. And all anybody knows about him is that he lived

here seventeen years ago, and comes back claiming to know where there's oil in Italy. He shows some maps

and papers and gets cablegrams signed `Moliterno.' Then he talks about selling the old Corliss house here,

where the Madisons live, and putting the money into his oil company: he does that to sound plausible, but I

have good reason to know that house was mortgaged to its full value within a month after his aunt left it to

him. He'll not get a cent if it's sold. That's all. And he's got Cora Madison so crazy over him that she makes

life a hell for poor old Lindley until he puts all he's saved into the bubble. The scheme may be all right. How

do I know? There's no way to tell, without going over there, and Corliss won't let anybody do that oh, he's

got a plausible excuse for it! But I'm sorry for Lindley: he's so crazy about Cora, he's soft. And she's so crazy

about Corliss she's soft! Well, I used to be crazy about her myself, but I'm not soft I'm not the Lindley

"Not your kind either," retorted the other going to the door. "She cut me on the street the other day; she's quit

speaking to me. If you've got any money, why don't you take it over to the hotel and give it to Corliss? She

might start speaking to you again. I'm going to lunch!" He slammed the door behind him.

Ray Vilas, left alone, elevated his heels to the sill, and stared out of the window a long time at a gravelled

roof which presented little of interest. He replenished his glass and his imagination frequently, the latter being

so stirred that when, about three o'clock, he noticed the inroads he had made upon the bottle, tears of

selfpity came to his eyes. "Poor little drunkard!" he said aloud. "Go ahead and do it. Isn't anything you won't

do!" And, having washed his face at a basin in a corner, he set his hat slightly upon one side, picked up a

walking stick and departed jauntily, and, to the outward eye, presentably sober.

Mr. Valentine Corliss would be glad to see him, the clerk at the Richfield Hotel reported, after sending up a

card, and upon Ray's following the card, Mr. Valentine Corliss in person confirmed the message with

considerable amusement and a cordiality in which there was some mixture of the quizzical. He was the taller;

and the robust manliness of his appearance, his splendid health and boxer's figure offered a sharp contrast to

the superlatively lean tippler. Corliss was humorously aware of his advantage: his greeting seemed really to

say, "Hello, my funny bug, here you are again!" though the words of his salutation were entirely courteous;

"No," said Vilas; "I won't drink with you." He spoke so gently that the form of his refusal, usually interpreted

as truculent, escaped the other's notice. He also declined a cigar, apologetically asking permission to light one

of his own cigarettes; then, as he sank into a velourcovered chair, apologized again for the particular

attention he was bestowing upon the apartment, which he recognized as one of the "suites de luxe" of the

"`Parlour, bedroom, and bath,'" he continued, with a melancholy smile; "and `Lachrymae,' and `A Reading

from Homer.' Sometimes they have `The Music Lesson,' or `Winter Scene' or `A Neapolitan Fisher Lad'

instead of `Lachrymae,' but they always have `A Reading from Homer.' When you opened the door, a

moment ago, I had a very strong impression that something extraordinary would some time happen to me in

"Even more wonderful than that," said Ray, glancing about the place curiously. "It may be a sense of

something painful that already has happened here perhaps long ago, before your occupancy. It has a

"Most hotel rooms have had something happen in them," said Corliss lightly. "I believe the managers usually

change the door numbers if what happens is especially unpleasant. Probably they change some of the rugs,

"I feel " Ray paused, frowning. "I feel as if some one had killed himself here."

"No doubt." The caller laughed and waved his hand in dismissal of the topic. "Well, Mr. Corliss," he went on,

shifting to a brisker tone, "I have come to make my fortune, too. You are Midas. Am I of sufficient

Valentine Corliss gave him sidelong an almost imperceptibly brief glance of sharpest scrutiny it was like

the wink of a camera shutter but laughed in the same instant. "Which way do you mean that?"

"You have been quick," returned the visitor, repaying that glance with equal swiftness, "to seize upon the

American idiom. I mean: How small a contribution would you be willing to receive toward your support!"

Corliss did not glance again at Ray; instead, he looked interested in the smoke of his cigar. "`Contribution,'"

"Oh, anything, anything," returned the promoter, with quick amiability. "We need to sell all the stock we

"Precisely. It's really a colossal proposition, Mr. Vilas." Corliss spoke with brisk enthusiasm. "It's a perfectly

certain enormous profit upon everything that goes in. Prince Moliterno cables me later investigations show

that the oilfield is more than twice as large as we thought when I left Naples. He's on the ground now,

"Oh, yes; but only by a few, and those are trying to keep it quiet from the others, of course."

"You mean Lindley's? Certainly." Corliss waved his hand in light deprecation. "Of course that's something,

but Moliterno would hardly be apt to think of it as very large! You see he's putting in about five times that

much, himself, and I've already turned over to him double it for myself. Still, it counts certainly; and of

"I fear," Ray said hesitatingly, "you won't be much interested in my drop for your bucket. I have twelve

hundred dollars in the world; and it is in the bank I stopped there on my way here. To be exact, I have

twelve hundred and fortyseven dollars and fiftyone cents. My dear sir, will you allow me to purchase one

thousand dollars' worth of stock? I will keep the two hundred and fortyseven dollars and fiftyone cents to

live on I may need an egg while waiting for you to make me rich. Will you accept so small an

"Certainly," said Corliss, laughing. "Why not? You may as well profit by the chance as any one. I'll send you

the stock certificates we put them at par. I'm attending to that myself, as our secretary, Mr. Madison, is

"Oh, any time, any time," said Corliss cheerfully, observing the new investor's movement.

"Oh, to me, I suppose," answered Corliss indifferently. "That will save a little trouble, and I can turn it over

"Of course the cheque itself is a receipt," remarked Corliss, tossing it carelessly upon a desk. "You'll have

I am confident of it. I have my own ways of divination, Mr. Corliss. I have gleams." He rose as if to go, but

stood looking thoughtfully about the apartment again. "Singular impression," he murmured. "Not exactly as if

You have symptoms of clairvoyance at times, I take it." The conscious, smooth superiority of the dexterous

man playing with an inconsequent opponent resounded in this speech, clear as the humming of a struck bell;

and Vilas shot him a single open glance of fire from hectic eyes. For that instant, the frailer buck trumpeted

challenge. Corliss broadshouldered, supple of waist, graceful and strong smiled down negligently;

yet the very air between the two men seemed charged with an invisible explosive. Ray laughed quickly, as in

"Oh, no, it isn't clairvoyance no more than when I told you that your only real interest is women. He

paused, his hand upon the doorknob. "I'm a quaint mixture, however: perhaps I should be handled with

"Very good of you," laughed Corliss "this warning. The afternoon I had the pleasure of meeting you I

"A haggard harlequin!" snapped Vilas, waving his hand to a mirror across the room. "Don't I look it?" And

the phrase fitted him with tragic accuracy. "You see? What a merry weddingguest I'll be! I invite you to join

Ray opened the door, and, turning, rolled his eyes fantastically. "Haven't you heard?" he cried. "When Hecate

Corliss stood in the doorway and watched him walk down the long hall to the elevator. There, Ray turned and

waved his hand, the other responding with gayety which was not assumed: Vilas might be insane, or drunk,

Corliss closed the door and began to pace his apartment thoughtfully. His expression manifested a peculiar

phenomenon. In company, or upon the street, or when he talked with men, the open look and frank eyes of

this stalwart young man were disarming and his most winning assets. But now, as he paced alone in his

apartment, now that he was not upon exhibition, now when there was no eye to behold him, and there was no

reason to dissimulate or veil a single thought or feeling, his look was anything but open; the last trace of

frankness disappeared; the muscles at mouth and eyes shifted; lines and planes intermingled and altered

subtly; there was a moment of misty transformation and the face of another man emerged. It was the face

of a man uninstructed in mercy; it was a shrewd and planning face: alert, resourceful, elaborately perceptive,

and flawlessly hard. But, beyond all, it was the face of a man perpetually on guard.

He had the air of debating a question, his hands in his pockets, his handsome forehead lined with a temporary

indecision. His sentrygo extended the length of his two rooms, and each time he came back into his

bedroom his glance fell consideringly upon a steamertrunk of the largest size, at the foot of his bed. The

trunk was partially packed as if for departure. And, indeed, it was the question of departure which he was

He was a man of varied dexterities, and he had one faculty of high value, which had often saved him, had

never betrayed him; it was intuitive and equal to a sixth sense: he always knew when it was time to go. An

inner voice warned him; he trusted to it and obeyed it. And it had spoken now, and there was his trunk

halfpacked in answer. But he had stopped midway in his packing, because he had never yet failed to make a

clean sweep where there was the slightest chance for one; he hated to leave a big job before it was completely

finished and Mr. Wade Trumble had refused to invest in the oilfields of Basilicata.

Corliss paused beside the trunk, stood a moment immersed in thought; then nodded once, decisively, and,

turning to a dressingtable, began to place some silvermounted brushes and bottles in a leather

There was a knock at the outer door. He frowned, set down what he had in his hands, went to the door and

Corliss remained motionless in an arrested attitude, his hand upon the knob of the opened door. His position

did not alter; he became almost unnaturally still, a rigidity which seemed to increase. Then he looked quickly

behind him, over his shoulder, and back again, with a swift movement of the head.

"No," said Pryor, at that. "I don't want you. I just thought I'd have two minutes' talk with you. All right?"

"All right," said Corliss quietly. "Come in." He turned carelessly, and walked away from the door keeping

between his guest and the desk. When he reached the desk, he turned again and leaned against it, his back to

it, but in the action of turning his hand had swept a sheet of notepaper over Ray Vilas's cheque a too

"I don't know," he began, regarding the other through his glasses, with steady eyes, "that I'm going to

interfere with you at all, Corliss. I just happened to strike you I wasn't looking for you. I'm on vacation,

visiting my married daughter that lives here, and I don't want to mix in if I can help it."

Corliss laughed, easily. "There's nothing for you to mix in. You couldn't if you wanted to."

"Well, I hope that's true," said Pryor, with an air of indulgence, curiously like that of a teacher for a pupil who

promises improvement. "I do indeed. There isn't anybody I'd like to see turn straight more than you. You're

educated and cultured, and refined, and smarter than all hell. It would be a big thing. That's one reason I'm

"I told you I wasn't doing anything," said Corliss with a petulance as oddly like that of a pupil as the other's

indulgence was like that of a tutor. "This is my own town; I own property here, and I came here to sell it. I

"Easy, easy," said Pryor, soothingly. "I've just told you I don't want to come in at all."

"I came to tell you just one thing: to go easy up there at Mr. Madison's house."

Corliss laughed contemptuously. "It's my house. I own it. That's the property I came here to sell."

"Oh, I know," responded Pryor. "That part of it's all right. But I've seen you several times with that young

lady, and you looked pretty thick, to me. You know you haven't got any business doing such things, Corliss. I

"See here, my friend," said the younger man, angrily, "you may be a tiptop spotter for the government when

it comes to running down some poor old lady that's bought a string of pearls in the Rue de la Paix "

"All right," said the other with a gesture of impatience; "and you got me once, all right. Well, that's over, isn't

"Well, what business have you with any other line?" demanded Corliss angrily. "Who made you general

"Now, what's the use your getting excited? I'm just here to tell you that I'm going to keep an eye on you. I

don't know many people here, and I haven't taken any particular pains to look you up. For all I know, you're

only here to sell your house, as you say. But I know old man Madison a little, and I kind of took a fancy to

him; he's a mighty nice old man, and he's got a nice family. He's sick and it won't do to trouble him; but

honest, Corliss if you don't slack off in that neighbourhood a little, I'll have to have a talk with the young

A derisory light showed faintly in the younger man's eyes as he inquired, softly: "That all, Mr. Pryor?"

"That's right. Sell your house and clear out. You'll find it healthy." He went to the door. "So far as I can see,"

he observed, ruminatively, "you haven't brought any of that Moliterno crowd you used to work with over to

"Well, I've said my say." Pryor gave him a last word as he went out. "You keep away from that little girl."

"Ass!" exclaimed Corliss, as the door closed. He exhaled a deep breath sharply, and broke into a laugh. Then

he went quickly into his bedroom and began to throw the things out of his trunk.

Hedrick Madison's eyes were not of marble; his heart was not flint nor his skin steel plate: he was flesh and

tender; he was a vulnerable, breathing boy, with highly developed capacities for pain which were now being

taxed to their utmost. Once he had loved to run, to leap, to disport himself in the sun, to drink deep of the free

air; he had loved life and one or two of his fellowmen. He had borne himself buoyantly, with jaunty

selfconfidence, even with some intolerance toward the weaknesses of others, not infrequently displaying

merriment over their mischances; but his time had found him at last; the evil day had come. Indian Summer

was Indian for him, indeed: sweet death were welcome; no charity was left in him. He leaped no more, but

walked broodingly and sought the dark places. And yet it could not be said that times were dull for him: the

luckless picket who finds himself in an open eightyacre field, under the eye of a sharpshooter up a tree,

would not be apt to describe the experience as dull. And Cora never missed a shot; she loved the work; her

pleasure in it was almost as agonizing for the target as was the accuracy of her fire.

She was ingenious: the horrible facts at her disposal were damaging enough in all conscience: but they did

not content her. She invented a lovestory, assuming that Hedrick was living it: he was supposed to be pining

for Lolita, to be fading, daybyday, because of enforced separation; and she contrived this to such an effect

of reality, and with such a diabolical affectation of delicacy in referring to it, that the mere remark, with

gentle sympathy, "I think poor Hedrick is looking a little better today," infallibly produced something

closely resembling a spasm. She formed the habit of never mentioning her brother in his presence except as

"poor Hedrick," a too obvious commiseration of his pretended attachment which met with like success.

Most dreadful of all, she invented romantic phrases and expressions assumed to have been spoken or written

by Hedrick in reference to his unhappiness; and she repeated them so persistently, yet always with such

apparent sincerity of belief that they were quotations from him, and not her inventions, that the driven youth

knew a fear, sometimes, that the horrid things were actually of his own perpetration.

The most withering of these was, "Torn from her I love by the ruthless hand of a parent. . . ." It was not

completed; Cora never got any further with it, nor was there need: a howl of fury invariably assured her of an

effect as satisfactory as could possibly have been obtained by an effort less impressionistic. Life became a

series of easy victories for Cora, and she made them somehow the more deadly for Hedrick by not seeming to

look at him in his affliction, nor even to be aiming his way: he never could tell when the next shot was

coming. At the table, the ladies of his family might be deep in dress, or discussing Mr. Madison's slowly

improving condition, when Cora, with utter irrelevance, would sigh, and, looking sadly into her coffee,

murmur, "Ah, fond mem'ries!" or, "Why am I haunted by the dead past?" or, the dreadful, "Torn from her I

There was compassion in Laura's eyes and in his mother's, but Cora was irresistible, and they always ended

by laughing in spite of themselves; and though they pleaded for Hedrick in private, their remonstrances

proved strikingly ineffective. Hedrick was the only person who had ever used the high hand with Cora: she

found repayment too congenial. In the daytime he could not go in the front yard, but Cora's window would

open and a tenderly smiling Cora lean out to call affectionately, "Don't walk on the grass darling little

"Oh come beloved, love let me press thee, While I caress thee In one long kiss, Lolita. . . . "

One terror still hung over him. If it fell as it might at any fatal moment then the utmost were indeed

done upon him; and this apprehension bathed his soul in night. In his own circle of congenial age and sex he

was, by virtue of superior bitterness and precocity of speech, a chief a moral castigator, a satirist of

manners, a creator of stinging nicknames; and many nourished unhealed grievances which they had little

hope of satisfying against him; those who attempted it invariably departing with more to avenge than they

had brought with them. Let these once know what Cora knew. . . . The vision was unthinkable!

It was Cora's patent desire to release the hideous item, to spread the scandal broadcast among his fellows

to ring it from the schoolbells, to send it winging on the hot winds of Hades! The boys had always liked his

yard and the empty stable to play in, and the devices he now employed to divert their activities elsewhere

were worthy of a great strategist. His energy and an abnormal ingenuity accomplished incredible things:

school had been in session several weeks and only one boy had come within conversational distance of Cora;

him Hedrick bore away bodily, in simulation of resistless high spirits, a brilliant exhibition of stagecraft.

And then Cora's friend, Mrs. Villard, removed her son Egerton from the private school he had hitherto

attended, and he made his appearance in Hedrick's class, one morning at the public school. Hedrick's eye

lighted with a savage gleam; timidly the first joy he had known for a thousand years crept into his grim heart.

After school, Egerton expiated a part of Cora's cruelty. It was a very small part, and the exploit no more than

infinitesimally soothing to the conqueror, but when Egerton finally got home he was no sight for a mother.

Thus Hedrick wrought his own doom: Mrs. Villard telephoned to Cora, and Cora went immediately to see

It happened to Hedrick that he was late leaving home the next morning. His entrance into his classroom was

an undeniable sensation, and within ten minutes the teacher had lost all control of the school. It became

necessary to send for the principal. Recess was a frantic nightmare for Hedrick, and his homeward progress at

noon a procession of such uproarious screamers as were his equals in speed. The nethermost depths were

reached when an ignoble pigtailed person he had always trodden upon flatfooted screamed across the fence

This worm, established upon the fence opposite the conservatory windows, and in direct view from the table

in the diningroom, shrieked the accursed request at short intervals throughout the luncheon hour. The

And now began a life for Hedrick which may be rather painfully but truthfully likened to a prolongation of

the experiences of a rat that finds itself in the middle of a crowded street in daylight: there is plenty of

excitement but no pleasure. He was pursued, harried, hounded from early morning till nightfall, and even in

his bed would hear shrill shouts go down the sidewalk from the throats of juvenile flybynights: "Oh

darling litoh darling litoh litle boy, litle boy, kiss me some more!" And one day he overheard a remark

which strengthened his growing conviction that the cataclysm had affected the whole United States: it was a

teacher who spoke, explaining to another a disturbance in the hall of the school. She said, behind her hand:

Laura had not even remotely foreseen the consequences of her revelation, nor, indeed, did she now properly

estimate their effect upon Hedrick. She and her mother were both sorry for him, and did what they could to

alleviate his misfortunes, but there was an inevitable remnant of amusement in their sympathy. Youth, at war,

affects stoicism but not resignation: in truth, resignation was not much in Hedrick's line, and it would be far

from the fact to say that he was softened by his sufferings. He brooded profoundly and his brightest thought

was revenge. It was not upon Cora that his chief bitterness turned. Cora had always been the constant, open

enemy: warfare between them was a regular condition of life; and unconsciously, and without "thinking it

out," he recognized the naturalness of her seizing upon the deadliest weapon against him that came to her

hand. There was nothing unexpected in that: no, the treachery, to his mind, lay in the act of Laura, that

noncombatant, who had furnished the natural and habitual enemy with this scourge. At all times, and with

or without cause, he ever stood ready to do anything possible for the reduction of Cora's cockiness, but now it

was for the takingdown of Laura and the repayment of her uncalledfor and overwhelming assistance to the

opposite camp that he lay awake nights and kept his imagination hot. Laura was a serene person, so neutral

outwardly, at least and so little concerned for herself in any matter he could bring to mind, that for

purposes of revenge she was a difficult proposition. And then, in a desperate hour, he remembered her book.

Only once had he glimpsed it, but she had shown unmistakable agitation of a mysterious sort as she wrote in

it, and, upon observing his presence, a prompt determination to prevent his reading a word of what she had

written. Therefore, it was something peculiarly sacred and intimate. This deduction was proved by the care

she exercised in keeping the book concealed from all eyes. A slow satisfaction began to permeate him: he

He determined with devoted ardour that when he found it he would make the worst possible use of it: the

worst, that is, for Laura. As for consequences to himself, he was beyond them. There is an Irish play in which

an old woman finds that she no longer fears the sea when it has drowned the last of her sons; it can do

The book was somewhere in Laura's room, he knew that; and there were enough opportunities to search,

though Laura had a way of coming in unexpectedly which was embarrassing; and he suffered from a sense of

inadequacy when on the occasion of his first new attempt he answered the casual inquiry as to his

presence by saying that he "had a headache." He felt there was something indirect in the reply; but Laura was

unsuspicious and showed no disposition to be analytical. After this, he took the precaution to bring a

schoolbook with him and she often found the boy seated quietly by her west window immersed in study: he

said he thought his headaches came from his eyes and that the west light "sort of eased them a little."

The ledger remained undiscovered, although probably there has never been a room more thoroughly and

painstakingly searched, without its floor being taken up and its walls torn down. The most mysterious, and, at

the same time, the most maddening thing about it was the apparent simplicity of the task. He was certain that

the room contained the book: listening, barefooted, outside the door at night, he had heard the pen scratching.

The room was as plain as a room can be, and small. There was a scantily filled clothespress; he had

explored every cubic inch of it. There was the small writing table with one drawer; it held only some

notepaper and a box of penpoints. There was a bureau; to his certain knowledge it contained no secret

whatever. There were a few giltless chairs, and a white "washstand," a mere basin and slab with exposed

plumbing. Lastly, there was the bed, a very large and ugly "Eastlake" contrivance; he had acquired a close

acquaintance with all of it except the interior of the huge mattress itself, and here, he finally concluded, must

of necessity be the solution. The surface of the mattress he knew to be unbroken; nevertheless the book was

there. He had recently stimulated his deductive powers with a narrative of French journalistic sagacity in a

similar case; and he applied French reasoning. The ledger existed. It was somewhere in the room. He had

searched everything except the interior of the mattress. The ledger was in that interior.

The exploration thus become necessary presented some difficulties. Detection in the act would involve

explanations hard to invent; it would not do to say he was looking for his knife; and he could not think of any

excuse altogether free from a flavour of insincerity. A lameness beset them all and made them liable to

suspicion; and Laura, once suspicious, might be petty enough to destroy the book, and so put it out of his

power forever. He must await the right opportunity, and, after a racking exercise of patience, at last he saw it

Doctor Sloane had permitted his patient to come down stairs for an increasing interval each day. Mr. Madison

crept, rather than walked, leaning upon his wife and closely attended by Miss Peirce. He spoke with difficulty

and not clearly; still, there was a perceptible improvement, and his family were falling into the habit of

speaking of him as almost well." On that account, Mrs. Madison urged her daughters to accept an invitation

from the mother of the once courtly Egerton Villard. It was at breakfast that the matter was discussed.

"But nothing!" interrupted Cora. "How would it look if I went and you didn't? Everybody knows papa's

almost well, and they'd think it silly for us to give up the first real dance since last spring on that account; yet

they're just spiteful enough, if I went and you stayed home, to call me a `girl of no heart.' Besides, she added

sweetly, "we ought to go to show Mrs. Villard we aren't hurt because Egerton takes so little notice of poor

"You would, too," returned her sister, decidedly. "The men like to dance with you; you dance every bit as

well as I do, and that black lace is the most becoming dress you ever had. Nobody ever remembers a black

dress, anyway, unless it's cut very conspicuously, and yours isn't. I can't go without you; they love to say

nasty things about me, and you're too good a sister to give 'em this chance, you old dear." She laughed and

"Yes, it would be nicer," said the mother. And so it was settled. It was simultaneously settled in Hedrick's

mind that the night of the dance should mark his discovery of the ledger. He would have some industrious

Meekly he lifted his eyes from his plate. "I'm glad you're going, sister Laura," he said in a gentle voice. "I

"Isn't it wonderful, exclaimed Cora, appealing to the others to observe him, "what an improvement a

Laura had spent some thoughtful hours upon her black lace dress with results that astonished her family: it

became a ballgown and a splendidly effective one. She arranged her dark hair in a more elaborate

fashion than ever before, in a close coronal of faintly lustrous braids; she had no jewellery and obviously

needed none. Her last action but one before she left her room was to dispose of the slender chain and key she

always wore round her neck; then her final glance at the mirror which fairly revealed a lovely woman

ended in a deprecatory little "face" she made at herself. It meant: "Yes, old lady, you fancy yourself very

passable in here all by yourself, don't you? Just wait: you'll be standing beside Cora in a moment!"

And when she did stand beside Cora, in the latter's room, a moment later, her thought seemed warranted.

Cora, radianteyed, in high bloom, and exquisite from head to foot in a shimmering white dancing dress, a

glittering crescent fastening the silver fillet that bound her vivid hair, was a flame of enchantment. Mrs.

Madison, almost weeping with delight, led her daughters proudly, an arm round the waist of each, into her

husband's room. Propped with pillows, he reclined in an armchair while Miss Peirce prepared his bed, an

"Look at these," cried the mother; " from our garden, Jim, dear! Don't we feel rich, you and I?"

"And and Laura," said the sick man, with the slow and imperfect enunication caused by his disease;

"Isn't she adorable!" Cora exclaimed warmly. "She decided to be the portrait of a young duchess, you see, all

"Hear! hear!" laughed Laura; but she blushed with pleasure, and taking Cora's hand in hers lifted it to her lips.

"And do you see Cora's crescent?" demanded Mrs. Madison. "What do you think of that for magnificence?

She went down town this morning with seven dollars, and came back with that and her party gloves and a

dollar in change! Isn't she a bargainer? Even for rhinestones they are the cheapest things you ever heard of.

They look precisely like stones of the very finest water." They did so precisely, indeed, that if the

resemblance did not amount to actual identity, then had a jeweller of the town been able to deceive the eye of

"They're both smart girls," said Madison, "both of them. And they look beautiful, tonight both.

When they had gone, Mrs. Madison returned from the stairway, and, kneeling beside her husband, put her

arms round him gently: she had seen the tear that was marking its irregular pathway down his flaccid, gray

"Don't. Don't worry, Jim," she whispered. "Those bright, beautiful things! aren't they treasures?"

"It's it's Laura," he said. "Cora will be all right. She looks out for herself. I'm I'm afraid for

"No, no," she protested. "I'm not afraid for either of them." But she was: the mother had always been afraid

. . . . At the dance, the two girls, attended up the stairway to the ballroom by a chattering covey of

blackcoats, made a sensational entrance to a gallant fanfare of music, an effect which may have been timed

to the premonitory tuning of instruments heard during the ascent; at all events, it was a great success; and

Cora, standing revealed under the wide gilt archway, might have been a lithe and shining figure from the year

eighteenhundredandone, about to dance at the Luxembourg. She placed her hand upon the sleeve of

Richard Lindley, and, glancing intelligently over his shoulder into the eyes of Valentine Corliss, glided

People looked at her; they always did. Not only the nondancers watched her; eyes everywhere were upon

her, even though the owners gyrated, glided and dipped on distant orbits. The other girls watched her, as a

rule, with a profound, an almost passionate curiosity; and they were prompt to speak well of her to men,

except in trustworthy intimacy, because they did not enjoy being wrongfully thought jealous. Many of them

kept somewhat aloof from her; but none of them ever nowadays showed "superiority" in her presence, or

snubbed her: that had been tried and proved disastrous in rebound. Cora never failed to pay her score and

with a terrifying interest added, her native tendency being to take two eyes for an eye and the whole jaw for a

tooth. They let her alone, though they asked and asked among themselves the nevermonotonous question:

"Why do men fall in love with girls like that?" a riddle which, solved, makes wives condescending to their

Most of the people at this dance had known one another as friends, or antagonists, or indifferent

acquaintances, for years, and in such an assembly there are always two worlds, that of the women and that of

the men. Each has its own vision, radically different from that of the other; but the greatest difference is that

the men are unaware of the other world, only a few of them usually queer ones like Ray Vilas vaguely

perceiving that there are two visions, while all the women understand both perfectly. The men splash about

on the surface; the women keep their eyes open under water. Or, the life of the assembly is like a bright

tapestry: the men take it as a picture and are not troubled to know how it is produced; but women are

weavers. There was a Beauty of farflung renown at Mrs. Villard's tonight: Mary Kane, a creature so made

and coloured that young men at sight of her became as water and older men were apt to wonder regretfully

why all women could not have been made like Mary. She was a kindly soul, and never intentionally outshone

her sisters; but the perfect sumptuousness of her had sometimes tried the amiability of Cora Madison, to

whom such success without effort and without spark seemed unfair, as well as bovine. Miss Kane was a

central figure at the dance, shining tranquilly in a new triumph: that day her engagement had been announced

to Mr. George Wattling, a young man of no special attainments, but desirable in his possessions and suitable

to his happiness. The pair radiated the pardonable, gay importance of newly engaged people, and Cora, who

had never before bestowed any notice upon Mr. Wattling, now examined him with thoughtful attention.

Finding him at her elbow in a group about a punch bowl, between dances, she offered warm felicitations.

"But I don't suppose you care whether I care for you to be happy or not," she added, with a little plaintive

Mr. Wattling was startled: never before had he imagined that Cora Madison had given him a thought; but

there was not only thought, there was feeling, in this speech. She seemed to be concealing with bravery an

even deeper feeling than the one inadvertently expressed. "Why, what on earth makes you think that?" he

"Think it? I know it!" She gave him a strange look, luminous yet mysterious, a curtain withdrawn only to

show a shining mist with something undefined but dazzling beyond. "I've always known it!" And she turned

"Oh, yes, you have." They began to discuss it, and for better consideration of the theme it became necessary

for Cora to "cut" the next dance, promised to another, and to give it to Mr. Wattling. They danced several

times together, and Mr. Wattling's expression was serious. The weavers of the tapestry smiled and whispered

Ray Vilas, seated alone in a recessed and softly lighted gallery, did not once lose sight of the flitting

sorceress. With his elbows on the railing, he leaned out, his head swaying slowly and mechanically as she

swept up and down the tumultuously moving room, his passionate eyes gaunt and brilliant with his hunger.

And something very like a general thrill passed over the assembly when, a little later, it was seen that he was

dancing with her. Laura, catching a glimpse of this couple, started and looked profoundly disturbed.

The extravagance of Vilas's passion and the depths he sounded, in his absurd despair when discarded, had

been matters of almost public gossip; he was accounted a somewhat scandalous and unbalanced but

picturesque figure; and for the lady whose light hand had wrought such havoc upon him to be seen dancing

with him was sufficiently startling to elicit the universal remark evidently considered superlative that it

was "just like Cora Madison!" Cora usually perceived, with an admirably clear head, all that went on about

her; and she was conscious of increasing the sensation, when after a few turns round the room, she allowed

her partner to conduct her to a secluding grove of palms in the gallery. She sank into the chair he offered,

and, fixing her eyes upon a small lamp of coloured glass which hung overhead, ostentatiously looked bored.

"At your feet, Cora," he said, seating himself upon a stool, and leaning toward her. "Isn't it appropriate that

we should talk to music we two? It shouldn't be that quick step though not dancemusic should it?"

She did not change her attitude nor the direction of her glance. "I couldn't cut you very well with the whole

town looking on. I'm tired of being talked about. Besides, I don't care much who I dance with so he

"Cora," he said, "it is the prelude to `L'Arlesienne' that they should play for you and me. Yes, I think it should

"It's just a rustic tragedy, the story of a boy in the south of France who lets love become his whole life, and

"People do sometimes die of love, even nowadays," he said, tremulously "in the South."

She let her eyes drift indifferently to him and perceived that he was trembling from head to foot; that his

hands and knees shook piteously; that his lips quivered and twitched; and, at sight of this agitation, an

"I see." Her eyes returned to the lamp. "You're from the South, and of course it's going to kill you."

"Cora," he said huskily, "I understand you a little because you possess me. I've never literally never

had another thought since the first time I saw you: nothing but you. I think of you actually every moment.

Drunk or sober, asleep or awake, it's nothing but you, you, you! It will never be different: I don't know

why I can't get over it I only know I can't. You own me; you burn like a hot coal in my heart. You're

through with me, I know. You drained me dry. You're like a child who eats so heartily of what he likes that

he never touches it again. And I'm a dish you're sick of. Oh, it's all plain enough, I can tell you. I'm not

"Do you want people to hear you?" she inquired angrily, for his voice had risen.

He tempered his tone. "Cora, when you liked me you went a pretty clipping gait with me," he said, trembling

even more than before. "But you're infinitely more infatuated with this Toreador of a Corliss than you were

with me; you're lost in him; you're slaving for him as I would for you. How far are you going with "

"Do you want me to walk away and leave you?" she asked, suddenly sitting up straight and looking at him

"It's over," he said, more calmly. "I know now how dangerous the man is. Of course you will tell him I said

that." He laughed quietly. "Well between a dangerous chap and a desperate one, we may look for some

lively times! Do you know, I believe I think about as continuously of him, lately, as I do of you. That's why I

put almost my last cent into his oil company, and got what may be almost my last dance with you!"

"I wouldn't call it `almost' your last dance with me!" she returned icily. "Not after what you've said. I had a

"He did, however. By manner and in speech I purposely and deliberately insulted him. You'll tell him every

word of this, of course, and he'll laugh at it, but I give myself the pleasure of telling you. I put the proposition

of an `investment' to him in a way nobody not a crook would have allowed to be smoothed over and he

allowed it to be smoothed over. He ate it! I felt he was a swindler when he was showing Richard Lindley his

maps and papers, and now I've proved it to myself, and it's worth the price." Often, when they had danced,

and often during this interview, his eyes lifted curiously to the white flaming crescent in her hair; now they

fixed themselves upon it, and in a flash of divination he cried: "You wear it for me!"

"I gave Corliss a thousand dollars," he said, slowly. "Considering the fact that it was my last, I flatter myself

it was not unhandsomely done though I may never need it. It has struck me that the sum was about what a

man who had just cleaned up fifty thousand might regard as a sort of `extra' `for lagniappe' and that he

might have thought it an appropriate amount to invest in a present some jewels perhaps to place in the hair

She sprang to her feet, furious, but he stood in front of her and was able to bar the way for a moment.

"Cora, I'll have a last word with you if I have to hold you," he said with great rapidity and in a voice which

shook with the intense repression he was putting upon himself. "We do one thing in the South, where I came

"I love you," he said, his face whiter than she had ever seen it. "I love you! I'm your dog! You take care of

"My dance, Miss Madison." A young gentleman on vacation from the navy had approached, and, with perfect

unconsciousness of what he was interrupting, but with wellfounded certainty that he was welcome to the

lady, urged his claim in a confident voice. "I thought it would never come, you know; but it's here at last and

Ray yielded now at once. She moved him aside with her gloved forearm as if he were merely an awkward

stranger who unwittingly stood between her and the claiming partner. Carrying the gesture farther, she took

the latter's arm, and smilingly, and without a backward glance, passed onward and left the gallery. The

lieutenant, who had met her once or twice before, was her partner for the succeeding dance as well, and,

having noted the advantages of the place where he had discovered her, persuaded her to return there to sit

through the second. Then without any fatiguing preamble, he proposed marriage. Cora did not accept, but

effected a compromise, which, for the present, was to consist of an exchange of photographs (his to be in

She was having an evening to her heart. Ray's attack on Corliss had no dimming effect; her thought of it

being that she was "used to his raving"; it meant nothing; and since Ray had prophesied she would tell Corliss

The naval young gentleman and Valentine Corliss were the greatest of all the lions among ladies that night;

she had easily annexed the lieutenant, and Corliss was hers already; though, for a purpose, she had not yet

been seen in company with him. He was visibly "making an impression." His name, as he had said to Richard

Lindley, was held in honour in the town; and there was a flavour of fancied romance in his absence since

boyhood in unknown parts, and his return now with a `foreign air' and a bow that almost took the breath of

some of the younger recipients. He was, too, in his way, the handsomest man in the room; and the smiling,

open frankness of his look, the ready cordiality of his manner, were found very winning. He caused plenty of

Cora waited till the evening was half over before she gave him any visible attention. Then, during a silence of

the music, between two dances, she made him a negligent sign with her hand, the gesture of one indifferently

beckoning a creature who is certain to come, and went on talking casually to the man who was with her.

Corliss was the length of the room from her, chatting gayly with a large group of girls and women; but he

immediately nodded to her, made his bow to individuals of the group, and crossed the vacant, glistening floor

to her. Cora gave him no greeting whatever; she dismissed her former partner and carelessly turned away

"Do you see that?" asked Vilas, leaning over the balcony railing with Richard Lindley. "Look! She's showing

the other girls don't you see? He's the New Man; she let 'em hope she wasn't going in for him; a lot of

them probably didn't even know that she knew him. She sent him out on parade till they're all excited about

him; now she shows 'em he's entirely her property and does it so matteroffactly that it's rubbed in twice

as hard as if she seemed to take some pains about it. He doesn't dance: she'll sit out with him now, till they all

read the tag she's put on him. She says she hates being talked about. She lives on it! so long as it's

envious. And did you see her with that chap from the navy? Neptune thinks he's dallying with Venus perhaps,

Lindley looked at him commiseratingly. "I think I never saw prettier decorations. Have you noticed, Ray?

"Toreador!" whispered the other between his teeth, looking at Corliss; then, turning to his companion, he

asked: "Has it occurred to you to get any information about Basilicata, or about the ancestral domain of the

His friend interrupted him with a sour laugh. "Oh, certainly! He's one of the greatest explainers ever

Richard said mildly: "And then, Ray, once I've gone into a thing I I don't like to seem suspicious."

"Poor old Dick!" returned Vilas compassionately. "You kind, easy, sincere men are so conscientiously

untruthful with yourselves. You know in your heart that Cora would be furious with you if you seemed

suspicious, and she's been so nice to you since you put in your savings to please her, that you can't bear to

risk offending her. She's twisted you around her little finger, and the unnamed fear that haunts you is that you

"Do you know what you'll do," asked Ray, regarding him keenly, "if this Don Giovanni from Sunny It' is

"You would do precisely, said Ray, "nothing! Cora'd see to that. You'd sigh and go to work again, beginning

at the beginning where you were years ago, and doing it all over. Admirable resignation, but not for me! I'm a

stockholder in his company and in shape to `take steps'! I don't know if I'd be patient enough to make them

legal perhaps I should. He may be safe on the legal side. I'll know more about that when I find out if there

"I doubt everything! In this particular matter I'll have less to doubt when I get an answer from the

Vilas read him at a glance. "You're afraid to find out!" he cried. Then he set his hand on the other's shoulder.

"If there ever was a God's fool, it's you, Dick Lindley. Really, I wonder the world hasn't kicked you around

more than it has; you'd never kick back! You're as easy as an old shoe. Cora makes you unhappy," he went

on, and with the very mention of her name, his voice shook with passion, "but on my soul I don't believe

you know what jealousy means: you don't even understand hate; you don't eat your heart "

"Let's go and eat something better," suggested Richard, laughing. "There's a continuous supper downstairs

Ray smiled, rescued for a second from himself. "There isn't anything better than your heart, you old

windowpane, and I'm glad you don't eat it. And if I ever mix it up with Don Giovanni T. Corliss `T'

stands for Toreador I do believe it'll be partly on your " He paused, leaving the sentence unfinished,

as his attention was caught by the abysmal attitude of a figure in another part of the gallery: Mr. Wade

Trumble, alone in a corner, sitting upon the small of his small back, munching at an unlighted cigar and

otherwise manifesting a biting gloom. Ray drew Lindley's attention to this tableau of pain. "Here's a three of

us!" he said. He turned to look down into the rhythmic kaleidoscope of dancers. "And there goes the girl we

"Laura Madison. Why aren't we? What a selfrespecting creature she is, with that cool, sweet steadiness of

hers she's like a mountain lake. She's lovely and she plays like an angel, but so far as anybody's ever

thinking about her is concerned she might almost as well not exist. Yet she's really beautiful tonight, if you

"She is rather beautiful tonight. Laura's always a very nicelooking girl," said Richard, and with the advent

of an idea, he added: "I think one reason she isn't more conspicuous and thought about is that she is so quiet,"

and, upon his companion's greeting this inspiration with a burst of laughter, "Yes, that was a brilliant

deduction," he said; "but I do think she's about the quietest person I ever knew. I've noticed there are times

"You're not precisely noisy yourself," said Ray. Have you danced with her this evening?"

"Why, no," returned the other, in a tone which showed this omission to be a discovery; "not yet. I must, of

"Yes, she's really `rather' beautiful. Also, she dances `rather' better than any other girl in town. Go and

"Perhaps I'd better," said Richard thoughtfully, not perceiving the satire. "At any rate, I'll ask her for the

He found it unengaged. There came to Laura's face an April change as he approached, and she saw he meant

to ask her to dance. And, as they swam out into the maelstrom, he noticed it, and remarked that it was rather

warm, to which she replied by a cheerful nod. Presently there came into Richard's mind the thought that he

was really an excellent dancer; but he did not recall that he had always formed the same pleasing estimate of

himself when he danced with Laura, nor realize that other young men enjoyed similar selfhelp when

dancing with her. And yet he repeated to her what Ray had said of her dancing, and when she laughed as in

appreciation of a thing intended humorously, he laughed, too, but insisted that she did dance "very well

indeed." She laughed again at that, and they danced on, not talking. He had no sense of "guiding" her; there

was no feeling of effort whatever; she seemed to move spontaneously with his wish, not to his touch; indeed,

She stumbled and almost fell; saved herself by clutching at his arm; he caught her; and the pair stopped where

they were, in the middle of the floor. A flash of dazed incredulity from her dark eyes swept him; there was

"No," she laughed, quickly, and her cheeks grew even redder. "I tripped myself. Wasn't that too bad just

They went to some chairs against a wall. There, as they sat, Cora swung by them, dancing again with her

lieutenant, and looking up trancedly into the gallant eyes of the triumphant and intoxicated young man.

Visibly, she was a woman with a suitor's embracing arm about her. Richard's eyes followed them.

"I didn't mean to speak out loud," she said tremulously. "But I meant: don't look so troubled. It doesn't mean

anything at all her coquetting with that bird of passage. He's going away in the morning."

"Well, whatever it was" she paused, and laughed with a plaintive timidity "why, just don't trouble

"Yes. And you don't look very gay when you're not!" She laughed with more assurance now. "I think you're

"Everybody laughs at me, I believe," he said, with continued seriousness. "Even Ray Vilas thinks I'm an utter

He turned as he spoke and glanced inquiringly into her eyes. What he saw surprised and dismayed him.

"I've been very hopeful lately," he said. "Cora has been so kind to me since I did what she wanted me to, that

I " He gave a deep sigh. "But if you're that sorry for me, my chances with her must be pretty

She did not alter her attitude, but with her downbent face still away from him, said huskily: "It isn't you I'm

sorry for. You mustn't ever give up; you must keep on trying and trying. If you give up, I don't know what

A moment later she rose suddenly to her feet. "Let's finish our dance," she said, giving him her hand. "I'm

The two girls let themselves into the house noiselessly, and, turning out the halllight, left for them by their

mother, crept upstairs on tiptoe; and went through the upper hall directly to Laura's room Cora's being

nearer the sickroom. At their age it is proper that a gayety be used three times: in anticipation, and actually,

and in afterrehearsal. The last was of course now in order: they went to Laura's room to "talk it over." There

was no gasfixture in this small chamber; but they found Laura's oillamp burning brightly upon her

"How queer!" said Laura with some surprise, as she closed the door. "Mother never leaves the lamp lit for

"Perhaps Miss Peirce came in here to read, and forgot to turn it out," suggested Cora, seating herself on the

edge of the bed and letting her silk wrap fall from her shoulders. "Oh, Laura, wasn't he gorgeous. . . ."

She referred to the gallant defender of our seas, it appeared, and while Laura undressed and got into a

wrapper, Cora recounted in detail the history of the impetuous sailor's enthrallment; a resume predicted

three hours earlier by a gleeful whisper hissed across the maritime shoulder as the sisters swung near each

"I've always heard they're horribly inconstant," she said, regretfully. "But, oh, Laura, wasn't he beautiful to

look at! Do you think he's more beautiful than Val? No don't tell me if you do. I don't want to hear it! Val

was so provoking: he didn't seem to mind it at all. He's nothing but a big brute sometimes: he wouldn't even

admit that he minded, when I asked him. I was idiot enough to ask; I couldn't help it; he was so tantalizing"

and exasperating laughing at me. I never knew anybody like him; he's so sure of himself and he can be so

cold. Sometimes I wonder if he really cares about anything, deep down in his heart anything except

himself. He seems so selfish: there are times when he almost makes me hate him; but just when I get to

thinking I do, I find I don't he's so deliciously strong, and there's such a big luxury in being under stood: I

always feel he knows me clear to the bone, somehow! But, oh," she sighed regretfully," doesn't a uniform

become a man? They ought to all wear 'em. It would look silly on such a little goat as that Wade Trumble,

though: nothing could make him look like a whole man. Did you see him glaring at me? Beast! I was going to

be so nice and kittenish and do all my prettiest tricks for him, to help Val with his oil company. Val thinks

Wade would come in yet, if I'd only get him in the mood to have another talk with Val about it; but the

spiteful little rat wouldn't come near me. I believe that was one of the reasons Val laughed at me and

pretended not to mind my getting proposed to. He must have minded; he couldn't have helped minding it,

really. That's his way; he's so mean he won't show things. He knows me. I can't keep anything from him;

he reads me like a signboard; and then about himself he keeps me guessing, and I can't tell when I've guessed

right. Ray Vilas behaved disgustingly, of course; he was horrid and awful. I might have expected it. I suppose

"No," said Laura. "He was very cheerful. He seemed glad you were having a good time."

"He didn't look particularly cheerful at me. I never saw so slow a man: I wonder when he's going to find out

about that pendant. Val would have seen it the instant I put it on. And, oh, Laura! isn't George Wattling

funny? He's just soft! He's goodlooking though," she continued pensively, adding, "I promised to motor out

"I've promised; so I'll have to, now." Cora laughed. "It'll do Mary Kane good. Oh, I'm not going to bother

much with him he makes me tired. I never saw anything so complacent as that girl when she came in

tonight, as if her little Georgie was the greatest capture the world had ever seen. . . ."

She chattered on. Laura, passive, listened with a thoughtful expression, somewhat preoccupied. The talker

"It must be after three," she said, listlessly, having gone over her evening so often that the colours were

beginning to fade. She yawned again. "Laura," she remarked absently, "I don't see how you can sleep in this

Cora went to her to be unfastened, reverting to the lieutenant during the operation, and kissing the

tirewoman warmly at its conclusion. "You're always so sweet to me, Laura," she said affectionately. "I don't

know how you manage it. You're so good" she laughed "sometimes I wonder how you stand me. If I

were you, I'm positive I couldn't stand me at all!" Another kiss and a hearty embrace, and she picked up her

It was very late, but Laura wrote for almost an hour in her book (which was undisturbed) before she felt

It was almost as if she had attempted to lie upon the empty air: the mattress sagged under her weight as if it

had been a hammock; and something tore with a ripping sound. There was a crash, and a choked yell from a

muffled voice somewhere, as the bed gave way. For an instant, Laura fought wildly in an entanglement of

what she insufficiently perceived to be springs, slats and bedclothes with something alive squirming

underneath. She cleared herself and sprang free, screaming, but even in her fright she remembered her father

and clapped her hand over her mouth that she might keep from screaming again. She dove at the door, opened

it, and fled through the hall to Cora's room, still holding her hand over her mouth.

Cora was up instantly; and had lit the gas in a trice. "There's a burglar!" Laura contrived to gasp. "In my

Cora stared at her wideeyed. "Why, it can't be. Think how long I was in there. Your bed broke, and you just

Cora seized a box of matches again. "I'm going to find out." "Oh, no, no!" protested Laura, cowering."

"Let's call Hedrick," suggested the pallid Laura; "or put our heads out of the window and scream for "

Cora laughed; she was not in the least frightened. "That wouldn't wake papa, of course! If we had a telephone

I'd send for the police; but we haven't. I'm going to see if there's any one there. A burglar's a man, I guess,

Laura clung to her, but Cora shook her off and went through the hall undaunted, Laura faltering behind her.

Cora lighted matches with a perfectly steady hand; she hesitated on the threshold of Laura's room no more

"There's no one under it now, that's certain," said Cora, and boldly lifted a corner of it. "Why, it's been cut all

to pieces from underneath! You're right; there was some one here. It's practically dismembered. Don't you

remember my telling you how it sagged? And I was only sitting on the edge of it! The slats have all been

moved out of place, and as for the mattress, it's just a mess of springs and that stuffing stuff. He must have

The two girls had changed places in this emergency. In her fright Laura was dependent, clinging: actual

contact with the intruder had unnerved her. It took all her will to accompany her sister upon the tour of

inspection, and throughout she cowered behind the dauntless Cora. It was the first time in their lives that their

positions had been reversed. From the days of Cora's babyhood, Laura had formed the habit of petting and

shielding the little sister, but now that the possibility became imminent of confronting an unknown and

dangerous man, Laura was so shaken that, overcome by fear, she let Cora go first. Cora had not boasted in

They found the fastenings of the doors secure and likewise those of all the windows, until they came to the

kitchen. There, the cook had left a window up, which plausibly explained the marauder's mode of ingress.

Then, at Cora's insistence, and to Laura's shivering horror, they searched both cellar and garret, and

concluded that he had escaped by the same means. Except Laura's bed, nothing in the house had been

disturbed; but this eccentricity on the part of a burglar, though it indeed struck the two girls as peculiar, was

not so pointedly mysterious to them as it might have been had they possessed a somewhat greater familiarity

They finally retired, Laura sleeping with her sister, and Cora had begun to talk of the lieutenant again, instead

In spite of the short hours for sleep, both girls appeared at the breakfasttable before the meal was over, and

were naturally pleased with the staccato of excitement evoked by their news. Mrs. Madison and Miss Peirce

were warm in admiration of their bravery, but in the same breath condemned it as foolhardy.

"I never knew such wonderful girls!" exclaimed the mother, almost tearfully. "You crazy little lions! To think

of your not even waking Hedrick! And you didn't have even a poker and were in your bare feet and went

"It was all Cora," protested Laura. "I'm a hopeless, disgusting coward. I never knew what a coward I was

before. Cora carried the lamp and went ahead like a drummajor. I just trailed along behind her, ready to

"Could you tell anything about him when you fell on him?" inquired Miss Peirce. "What was his voice like

They evolved a plausible theory of the burglar's motives and line of reasoning. "You see," said Miss Peirce,

much stirred, in summing up the adventure, "he either jimmies the window, or finds it open already, and

Sarah's mistaken and she did leave it open! Then he searched the downstairs first, and didn't find anything.

Then he came upstairs, and was afraid to come into any of the rooms where we were. He could tell which

rooms had people in them by hearing us breathing through the keyholes. He finds two rooms empty, and

probably he made a thorough search of Miss Cora's first. But he isn't after silver toilet articles and pretty little

things like that. He wants really big booty or none, so he decides that an outoftheway, unimportant room

like Miss Laura's is where the family would be most apt to hide valuables, jewellery and silver, and he knows

that mattresses have often been selected as hidingplaces; so he gets under the bed and goes to work. Then

Miss Cora and Miss Laura come in so quietly not wanting to wake anybody that he doesn't hear them,

"But why," Mrs. Madison inquired of this authority, "why do you suppose he lit the lamp?"

Further discussion was temporarily interrupted by the discovery that Hedrick had fallen asleep in his chair.

"Don't bother him, Cora," said his mother. "He's finished eating let him sleep a few minutes, if he wants

to, before he goes to school. He's not at all well. He played too hard, yesterday afternoon, and hurt his knee,

he said. He came down limping this morning and looking very badly. He oughtn't to run and climb about the

stable so much after school. See how utterly exhausted he looks! Not even this excitement can keep him

"I think we must be careful not to let Mr. Madison suspect anything about the burglar," said Miss Peirce. "It

"Police!" Hedrick woke so abruptly, and uttered the word with such passionate and vehement protest, that

"Do you suppose he wouldn't know something had happened with a squad of big, heavy policemen tromping

all over the house? The first thing they'd do would be to search the whole place "

"I should think not! I'm glad," continued Hedrick, truthfully, "that idea's out of your head! I believe Laura

He gave her a concentrated look, and rose to leave. "Nothin' on earth but imagina " He stopped with a

grunt as he forgetfully put his weight on his left leg. He rubbed his knee, swallowed painfully, and, leaving

He left the house, gloomily swinging his books from a spare length of strap, and walking with care to ease his

strains and bruises as much as possible. He was very low in his mind, that boy. His fortunes had reached the

ebbtide, but he had no hope of a rise. He had no hope of anything. It was not even a consolation that,

through his talent for surprise in waylayings, it had lately been thought necessary, by the Villard family, to

have Egerton accompanied to and from school by a manservant. Nor was Hedrick more deeply depressed by

the certainty that both public and domestic scandal must soon arise from the inevitable revelation of his

discontinuing his attendance at school without mentioning this important change of career at home. He had

been truant a full fortnight, under brighter circumstances a matter for a lawless pride now he had neither

He walked two blocks in the direction of his school; turned a corner; walked half a block; turned north in the

alley which ran parallel to Corliss Street, and a few moments later had cautiously climbed into an old, disused

refuse box which stood against the rear wall of the empty stable at his own home. He pried up some loose

boards at the bottom of the box, and entered a tunnel which had often and often served in happier days

when he had friends for the escape of Union officers from Libby Prison and Andersonville. Emerging,

wholly soiled, into a boxstall, he crossed the musty carriage house and ascended some rickety steps to a

long vacant coachman'sroom, next to the hayloft. He closed the door, bolted it, and sank moodily upon a

This apartment was his studio. In addition to the sofa, it contained an exbureau, three chairlike shapes, a

once marbletopped table, now covered with a sheet of zinc, two empty bird cages, and a condemned

whatnot. The walls were rather overdecorated in coloured chalks, the manheadedsnake motive

predominating; they were also loopholed for firing into the hayloft. Upon the table lay a battered spyglass,

minus lenses, and, nearby, two boxes, one containing dried cornsilk, the other hayseed, convenient for the

making of amateur cigarettes; the smoker's outfit being completed by a neat pile of rectangular clippings from

newspapers. On the shelves of the whatnot were some fragments of a dead pie, the relics of a

"FifteenPuzzle," a pink Easteregg, four seashells, a tambourine with part of a girl's face still visible in aged

colours, about two thirds of a hotwater bag, a tintype of Hedrick, and a number of books: several by Henty,

"Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea," "100 Practical Jokes, Easy to Perform," "The Jungle Book,"

"My Lady Rotha," a "Family Atlas," "Three Weeks," "Pilgrim's Progress," "A Boy's Life in Camp," and "The

The gloomy eye of Hedrick wandered to "The Mystery of the Count's Bedroom," and remained fixed upon it

moodily and contemptuously. His own mystery made that one seem tame and easy: Laura's bedroom laid it

all over the Count's, in his conviction; and with a soul too weary of pain to shudder, he reviewed the

He had not essayed the attempt upon the mattress until assured that the house was wrapped in slumber. Then,

with hope in his heart, he had stolen to Laura's room, lit the lamp, feeling safe from intrusion, and set to

work. His implement at first was a long hatpin of Cora's. Lying on his back beneath the bed, and, moving the

slats as it became necessary, he sounded every cubic inch of the mysterious mattress without encountering

any obstruction which could reasonably be supposed to be the ledger. This was not more puzzling than it was

infuriating, since by all processes of induction, deduction, and pure logic, the thing was necessarily there. It

was nowhere else. Therefore it was there. It had to be there! With the great blade of his Boy Scout's knife he

For a time he had worked furiously and effectively, but the position was awkward, the search laborious, and

he was obliged to rest frequently. Besides, he had waited to a later hour than he knew, for his mother to go to

bed, and during one of his rests he incautiously permitted his eyes to close. When he woke, his sisters were in

the room, and he thought it advisable to remain where he was, though he little realized how he had weakened

his shelter. When Cora left the room, he heard Laura open the window, sigh, and presently a tiny clinking and

a click set him atingle from head to foot: she was opening the padlocked book. The scratching sound of a

pen followed. And yet she had not come near the bed. The mattress, then, was a living lie.

With infinite caution he had moved so that he could see her, arriving at a coign of vantage just as she closed

the book. She locked it, wrapped it in an oilskin cover which lay beside it on the table, hung the keychain

round her neck, rose, yawned, and, to his violent chagrin, put out the light. He heard her moving but could

not tell where, except that it was not in his part of the room. Then a faint shuffling warned him that she was

approaching the bed, and he withdrew his head to avoid being stepped upon. The next moment the world

Laura's flight had given him opportunity to escape to his own room unobserved; there to examine, bathe and

bind his wounds, and to rectify his first hasty impression that he had been fatally mangled.

The influence of a familiar and sequestered place is not only soothing; the bruised mind may often find it

restorative. Thus Hedrick, in his studio, surrounded by his own loved bricabrac, began to feel once more

the stir of impulse. Two hours' reading inspired him. What a French reporter (in the Count's bedroom) could

do, an American youth in full possession of his powers except for a strained knee and other injuries

He evolved a new chain of reasoning. The ledger had been seen in Laura's room; it had been heard in her

room; it appeared to be kept in her room. But it was in no single part of the room. All the parts make a whole.

On the other hand, Laura had not left the room when she took the book from its hidingplace. This was

confusing; therefore he determined to concentrate logic solely upon what she had done with the ledger when

she finished writing in it. It was dangerous to assume that she had restored it to the place whence she obtained

it, because he had already proved that place to be both in the room and out of the room. No; the question he

Arrived at this inevitable deduction, he sprang to his feet in a state of repressed excitement and began to pace

the floor like a hound on the trail. Laura had not left the room, but the book had left the room: he must

keep his mind upon this point. He uttered a loud exclamation and struck the zinc tabletop a smart blow with

In the exaltation of this triumph, he forgot that it was not yet the hour for a scholar's reappearance, and went

forth in haste to search the ground beneath the window a disappointing quest, for nowhere in the yard was

there anything but withered grass, and the rubbish of other frostbitten vegetation. His mother, however,

discovered something else, and, opening the kitchen window, she asked, with surprise:

This recalled what he had forgotten, and he realized the insecurity of his position. "Oh, yes," he said

He began to speak rapidly. "Didn't I go to school? Well, where else could I go? Just because I'm here now

doesn't mean I didn't go, does it? Because a person is in China right now wouldn't have to mean he'd never

"Well, I was going along, and you know I didn't feel very well and " He paused, with the advent of a

happier idea, then continued briskly: "But that didn't stop me, because I thought I ought to go if I dropped, so

I went ahead, but the teacher was sick and they couldn't get a substitute. She must have been pretty sick, she

"I see," said his mother. "But if you feel ill, Hedrick, hadn't you better come in and lie down?"

"Be careful of your sore knee, dear." She closed the window, and he was left to continue his operations in

Laura had thrown the ledger out of the window; that was proved absolutely. Obviously, she had come down

before daylight and retrieved it. Or, she had not. Proceeding on the assumption that she had not, he lifted his

eyes and searched the air. Was it possible that the book, though thrown from the window, had never reached

the ground? The branches of an old and stalwart maple, now almost divested of leaves, extended in rough

symmetry above him, and one big limb, reaching out toward the house, came close to Laura's windows.

Triumph shown again from the shrewd countenance of the sleuth: Laura must have slid the ledger along a

wire into a hollow branch. However, no wire was to be seen and the shrewd countenance of the sleuth fell.

But perhaps she had constructed a device of silk threads, invisible from below, which carried the book into

He climbed carefully but with many twinges, finally pausing in a parlous situation not far from the

mysterious window which Laura had opened the night before. A comprehensive survey of the tree revealed

only the very patent fact that none of the branches was of sufficient diameter to conceal the ledger. No silk

threads came from the window. He looked and looked and looked at that window; then his eye fell a little,

The kitchen window which his mother had opened was directly beneath Laura's, and was a very long, narrow

window, in the style of the house, and there was a protecting stone ledge above it. Upon this ledge lay the

book, wrapped in its oilskin covering and secured from falling by a piece of broken iron hooping, stuck in

the mortar of the bricks. It could be seen from nowhere save an upper window of the house next door, or from

Laura had felt very safe. No one had ever seen the book except that night, early in August, when, for a better

circulation of air, she had left her door open as she wrote, and Hedrick had come upon her. He had not

spoken of it again; she perceived that he had forgotten it; and she herself forgot that the memory of a boy is

never to be depended on; its forgettings are too seldom permanent in the case of things that ought to stay

Hedrick seemed so ill during lunch that his mother spoke of asking Doctor Sloane to look at him, if he did not

improve before evening. Hedrick said meekly that perhaps that would be best if he did not improve. After

a futile attempt to eat, he courteously excused himself from the table a ceremony which made even Cora

fear that his case might be serious and, going feebly to the library, stretched himself upon the sofa. His

mother put a rug over him; Hedrick, thanking her touchingly, closed his eyes; and she went away, leaving

After a time, Laura came into the room on an errand, walking noiselessly, and, noticing that his eyes were

"Never mind," he returned, in the tone of an invalid. "I didn't sleep sound. I think there's something the matter

inside my head: I have such terrible dreams. I guess maybe it's better for me to keep awake. I'm kind of afraid

"Certainly I'll stay," she said, and, observing that his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes unusually bright, she

laid a cool hand on his forehead. "You haven't any fever, dear; that's good. You'll be all right tomorrow.

"I believe," he answered, plaintively, "reading might kind of disturb my mind: my brain feels so sort of

"No, not cards exactly. Something' I can do lying down. Oh, I know! You remember the one where we drew

pictures and the others had to guess what they were? Well, I've invented a game like that. You sit down at the

"Now, I'll describe some people and where they live and not tell who they are, and you see if you can guess

"Yes, because I'm going to describe the way their houses look. Write each name on a separate sheet of paper,

and the number of their house below it if you know it, and if you don't know it, just the street. If it's a woman:

put `Miss' or `Mrs.' before their name and if it's a man write `Esquire' after it."

"Oh, all right," she acquiesced, goodnaturedly. "It shall be according to your rules."

"Then afterward, you give me the sheets of paper with the names and addresses written on 'em, and we we

"I'll tell you when we come to it." But when that stage of his invention was reached, and Laura had placed the

inscribed sheets in his hand, his interest had waned, it appeared. Also, his condition had improved.

"Let's quit. I thought this game would be more exciting," he said, sitting up. "I guess," he added with too

much modesty, "I'm not very good at inventing games. I b'lieve I'll go out to the barn; I think the fresh air

"Do you feel well enough to go out?" she asked. "You do seem to be all right, though."

"Yes, I'm a lot better, I think." He limped to the door." The fresh air will be the best thing for me."

She did not notice that he carelessly retained her contributions to the game, and he reached his studio with

them in his hand. Hedrick had entered the 'teens and he was a reader: things in his head might have dismayed

No remotest glimpse entered that head of the enormity of what he did. To put an end to his punishing of

Cora, and, to render him powerless against that habitual and natural enemy, Laura had revealed a horrible

incident in his career it had become a public scandal; he was the sport of fools; and it might be months

before the thing was lived down. Now he had the means, as he believed, to even the score with both sisters at

a stroke. To him it was turning a tremendous and properly scathing joke upon them. He did not hesitate.

That evening, as Richard Lindley sat at dinner with his mother, Joe Varden temporarily abandoned his

attendance at the table to answer the front doorbell. Upon his return, he remarked:

"Boy with package. Least, I reckon it were a boy. Call' back from the front walk, say he couldn' wait. Say he

"Why don't you see what it is, Richard?" Mrs. Lindley asked of her son. "Bring it to the table, Joe."

When it was brought, Richard looked at the superscription with surprise. The wrapper was of heavy brown

paper, and upon it a sheet of white notepaper had been pasted, with the address: "Richard Lindley, Esq., 1218

"It's from Laura Madison," he said, staring at this writing. "What in the world would Laura be sending me?"

"You might possibly learn by opening it," suggested his mother. "I've seen men puzzle over the outside of

things quite as often as women. Laura Madison is a nice girl." She never volunteered similar praise of Laura

Madison's sister. Mrs. Lindley had submitted to her son's plans concerning Cora, lately confided; but her

"It's a book," said Richard, even more puzzled, as he took the ledger from its wrappings. "Two little torn

"Perhaps it's the Madison family album," Mrs. Lindley suggested. "Pictures of Cora since infancy. I imagine

"No." He opened the book and glanced at the pages covered in Laura's clear, readable hand. "No, it's about

half full of writing. Laura must have turned literary." He read a line or two, frowning mildly. "My soul! I

believe it's a novel! She must think I'm a critic to want me to read it." Smiling at the idea, he closed the

ledger. "I'll take it upstairs to my hangout after dinner, and see if Laura's literary manner has my august

approval. Who in the world would ever have thought she'd decide to set up for a writer?"

"I imagine she might have something to write worth reading," said his mother. "I've always thought she was

"Of course," continued Mrs. Lindley, thoughtfully, "she seldom says anything interesting, but that may be

Richard refused to perceive this allusion. "Curious that Laura should have sent it to me," he said. "She's never

seemed interested in my opinion about anything. I don't recall her ever speaking to me on any subject

He returned his attention to his plate, but his mother did not appear to agree with him that the topic was

"Yes," he replied, in his habitual preoccupied and casual tone. "Or perhaps two. Not more than two, I should

Mrs. Lindley had arranged for her son a small apartment on the second floor, and it was in his own library

and smokingroom that Richard, comfortable in a leatherchair by a readinglamp, after dinner, opened

The first page displayed no more than a date now eighteen months past, and the line:

"That was all I could write, yesterday. I think I was too excited to write. Something seemed to be singing in

my breast. I couldn't think in sentences not even in words. How queer it is that I had decided to keep a

diary, and bound this book for it, and now the first thing I have written in it was that! It will not be a diary. It

shall be Your book. I shall keep it sacred to You and write to You in it. How strange it will be if the day ever

comes when I shall show it to You! If it should, you would not laugh at it, for of course the day couldn't come

unless you understood. I cannot think it will ever come that day! But maybe No, I mustn't let

myself hope too much that it will, because if I got to hoping too much, and you didn't like me, it would hurt

too much. People who expect nothing are never disappointed I must keep that in mind. Yet every girl has

a right to hope for her own man to come for her some time, hasn't she? It's not easy to discipline the wanting

"I think I must always have thought a great deal about you without knowing it. We really know so little what

we think: our minds are going on all the time and we hardly notice them. It is like a queer sort of factory

the owner only looks in once in a while and most of the time hasn't any idea what sort of goods his spindles

"I saw You yesterday! It seems to me the strangest thing in the world. I've seen you by chance, probably two

or three times a month nearly all my life, though you so seldom come here to call. And this time wasn't

different from dozens of other times you were just standing on the corner by the Richfield, waiting for a

car. The only possible difference is that you had been out of town for several months Cora said so this

morning and how ridiculous it seems now, didn't even know it! I hadn't noticed it not with the top part

of my mind, but perhaps the deep part that does the real thinking had noticed it and had mourned your

absence and was so glad to see you again that it made the top part suddenly see the wonderful truth!"

Lindley set down the ledger to relight his cigar. It struck him that Laura had been writing "very odd Stuff,"

but interesting; and certainly it was not a story. Vaguely he recalled Marie Bashkirtseff: hadn't she done

"You turned and spoke to me in that lovely, cordial, absentminded way of yours though I'd never

thought (with the top part) what a lovely way it was; and for a moment I only noticed how nice you looked in

a light gray suit, because I'd only seen you in black for so long, while you'd been in mourning for your

Richard, disturbed by an incredible idea, read these last words over and then dismissed the notion as

". . . While you'd been in mourning for your brother and it struck me that light gray was becoming to you.

Then such a queer thing happened: I felt the great kindness of your eyes. I thought they were full of the

only word that seems to express it at all is charity and they had a sweet, faraway look, too, and I've always

thought that a look of wistful kindness was the loveliest look in the world and you had it, and I saw it and

then suddenly, as you held your hat in your hand, the sunshine on your hair seemed brighter than any

sunshine I had ever seen and I began to tremble all over. I didn't understand what was the matter with me

or what had made me afraid with you not of you all at once, but I was so hopelessly rattled that instead of

waiting for the car, as I'd just told you I meant to, I said I'd decided to walk, and got away without any

breath left to breathe with! I couldn't have gotten on the car with you and I couldn't have spoken another

"And as I walked home, trembling all the way, I saw that strange, dazzling sunshine on your hair, and the

wistful, kind look in your eyes you seemed not to have taken the car but to have come with me and I

was uplifted and exalted oh, so strangely oh, how the world was changing for me! And when I got near

home, I began to walk faster, and on the front path I broke into a run and rushed in the house to the piano

and it was as if my fingers were thirsty for the keys! Then I saw that I was playing to you and knew that I

"How different everything is now from everything before. Music means what it never did: Life has leaped

into blossom for me. Everywhere there is colour and radiance that I had never seen the air is full of

"I understand, as I never understood, that the world so dazzling to me now was made for love and is

meaningless without it. The years until yesterday are gray no, not gray, because that was the colour You

were wearing not gray, because that is a beautiful colour. The empty years until yesterday had no colour

at all. Yes, the world has meaning only through loving, and without meaning there is no real life. We live

only by loving, and now that this gift of life has come to me I love all the world. I feel that I must be so kind,

kind, kind to everybody! Such an odd thing struck me as my greatest wish. When I was little, I remember

grandmother telling me how, when she was a child in pioneer days, the women made the men's clothes

homespun and how a handsome young Circuit Rider, who was a bachelor, seemed to her the most

beautifully dressed man she had ever seen. The women of the different churches made his clothes, as they did

their husbands' and brothers.' you see only better! It came into my head that that would be the divinest

happiness that I could know to sew for you! If you and I lived in those old, old times you look as if

you belonged to them, you know, dear and You were the young minister riding into the settlement on a

big bay horse and all the girls at the window, of course! and I sewing away at the homespun for you!

choiring in my heart and what thick, warm clothes I'd make you for winter! Perhaps in heaven they'll let

"I hear Cora's voice from downstairs as I write she's often so angry with Ray, poor girl. It does not seem to

me that she and Ray really belong to each other, though they say so often that they do."

Richard having read thus far with a growing, vague uneasiness, looked up, frowning. He hoped Laura had no

Marie Bashkirtseff idea of publishing this manuscript. It was too intimate, he thought, even if the names in it

were to be disguised. . . . "Though they say so often that they do. I think Ray is in love with her, but it can't

be like this. What he feels must be something wholly different there is violence and wildness in it. And

they are bitter with each other so often always `getting even' for something. He does care he is

frantically "in love" with her, undoubtedly, but so insanely jealous. I suppose all jealousy is insane. But love

is the only sanity. How can what is insane be part of it? I could not be jealous of You. I owe life to you I

. . . . "Today as I passed your house with Cora, I kept looking at the big front door at which you go in and

out so often your door! I never knew that just a door could look so beautiful! And unconsciously I kept

my eyes on it, as we walked on, turning my head and looking and looking back at it, till Cora suddenly burst

out laughing, and said: `Well, Laura!' And I came to myself and found her looking at me. It was like

getting back after a journey, and for a second I was a little dazed, and Cora kept on laughing at me, and I felt

myself getting red. I made some silly excuse about thinking your house had been repainted and she

laughed louder than ever. I was afraid then that she understood I wonder if she could have? I hope not,

though I love her so much I don't know why I would rather she didn't know, unless it is just my feeling about

it. It is a guardian feeling that I must keep for myself, the music of these angels singing in my heart

singing of You. I hope she did not understand and I so fear she did. Why should I be so afraid?" . . .

. . . . "Two days since I have talked to You in your book after Cora caught me staring at your door and

laughed at me and ten minutes ago I was sitting beside the actual You on the porch! I am trembling yet. It

was the first time you'd come for months and months; and yet you had the air of thinking it rather a pleasant

thing to do as you came up the steps! And a dizzy feeling came over me, because I wondered if it was seeing

me on the street that day that put it into your head to come. It seemed too much happiness and risking too

much to let myself believe it, but I couldn't help just wondering. I began to tremble as I saw you coming

up our side of the street in the moonlight and when you turned in here I was all panic I nearly ran into

the house. I don't know how I found voice to greet you. I didn't seem to have any breath left at all. I was so

relieved when Cora took a chair between us and began to talk to you, because I'm sure I couldn't have. She

and poor Ray had been having one of their quarrels and she was punishing him. Poor boy, he seemed so

miserable though he tried to talk to me about politics, I think, though I'm not sure, because I couldn't

listen much better than either of us could talk. I could only hear Your voice such a rich, quiet voice, and it

has a sound like the look you have friendly and faraway and wistful. I have thought and thought about

what it is that makes you look wistful. You have less to wish for than anybody else in the world because you

"I heard Cora asking you why you hadn't come to see us for so long, and then she said: `Is it because you

dislike me? You look at me, sometimes, as if you dislike me!' And I wished she hadn't said it. I had a feeling

you wouldn't like that `personal' way of talking that she enjoys and that oh, it didn't seem to be in

keeping with the dignity of You! And I love Cora so much I wanted her to be finer with You. I wanted her

to understand you better than to play those little charming tricks at you. You are so good, so high, that if she

could make a real friend of you I think it would be the best thing for her that could happen. She's never had a

manfriend. Perhaps she was trying to make one of you and hasn't any other way to go about it. She can be so

"Afterwhile, when Ray couldn't bear it any longer to talk to me, and in his desperation brazenly took Cora to

the other end of the porch almost by force, and I was left, in a way, alone with you what did you think of me?

I was tonguetied! Oh, oh, oh! You were quiet but I was dumb! My heart wasn't dumb it hammered!

All the time I kept saying to myself such a jumble of things. And into the jumble would come such a rapture

that You were there it was like a paean of happiness a chanting of the glory of having You near me

I was mixed up! I could play all those confused things, but writing them doesn't tell it. Writing them would

only be like this: `He's here, he's here! Speak, you little fool! He's here, he's here! He's sitting beside you!

Speak, idiot, or he'll never come back! He's here, he's beside you you could put out your hand and touch him!

"Ah, some day I shall be able to talk to you but not till I get more used to this inner song. It seems to will

"In spite of my silence my outward woodenness you said, as you went away, that you would come

again! You said `soon'! I could only nod but Cora called from the other end of the porch and asked: `How

soon?' Oh, I bless her for it, because you said, `Day after tomorrow.' Day after tomorrow! Day after

. . . . "Twentyone hours since I wrote no, sang `Day after tomorrow!' And now it is `Tomorrow!'

Oh, the slow, golden day that this has been! I could not stay in the house I walked no, I winged! I was

in the open country before I knew it with You! For You are in everything. I never knew the sky was blue,

before. Until now I just thought it was the sky. The whitest clouds I ever saw sailed over that blue, and I

stood upon the prow of each in turn, then leaped in and swam to the next and sailed with it! Oh, the beautiful

sky, and kind, green woods and blessed, long, white, dusty country road! Never in my life shall I forget that

walk this day in the open with my love You! Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Tomorrow!"

. . . . "I have decided to write again in this book. I have thought it all out carefully, and I have come to the

conclusion that it can do no harm and may help me to be steady and sensible. It is the thought, not its

expression, that is guilty, but I do not believe that my thoughts are guilty: I believe that they are good. I know

that I wish only good. I have read that when people suffer very much the best thing is for them to cry. And so

I'll let myself write out my feelings and perhaps get rid of some of the silly selfpity I'm foolish enough to

feel, instead of going about choked up with it. How queer it is that even when we keep our thoughts

respectable we can't help having absurd feelings like selfpity, even though we know how rotten stupid they

are! Yes, I'll let it all out here, and then, some day, when I've cured myself all whole again, I'll burn this poor,

silly old book. And if I'm not cured before the wedding, I'll burn it then, anyhow.

"How funny little girls are! From the time they're little bits of things they talk about marriage whom they

are going to marry, what sort of person it will be. I think Cora and I began when she was about five and I not

seven. And as girls grow up, I don't believe there was ever one who genuinely expected to be an old maid.

The most unattractive young girls discuss and plan and expect marriage just as much as the prettier and gayer

ones. The only way we can find out that men don't want to marry us is by their not asking us. We don't see

ourselves very well, and I honestly believe we all think way deep down that we're pretty attractive. At

least, every girl has the idea, sometimes, that if men only saw the whole truth they'd think her as nice as any

other girl, and really nicer than most others. But I don't believe I have any hallucinations of that sort about

myself left. I can't imagine now any man seeing anything in me that would make him care for me. I

can't see anything about me to care for, myself. Sometimes I think maybe I could make a man get excited

about me if I could take a startlingly personal tone with him from the beginning, making him wonder all sorts

of youandI perhapses but I couldn't do it very well probably oh, I couldn't make myself do it if I

upon very inexperienced men yet it does! Now, I wonder if this is a streak of sourness coming out; I don't

"Well, here I am facing it: all through my later childhood, and all through my girlhood, I believe what really

occupied me most with the thought of it underlying all things else, though often buried very deep was

the prospect of my marriage. I regarded it as a certainty: I would grow up, fall in love, get engaged, and be

married of course! So I grew up and fell in love with You but it stops there, and I must learn how to be

an Old Maid and not let anybody see that I mind it. I know this is the hardest part of it, the beginning: it will

get easier byandby, of course. If I can just manage this part of it, it's bound not to hurt so much later on.

"Yes, I grew up and fell in love with You for you will always be You. I'll never, never get over that, my

dear! You'll never, never know it; but I shall love You always till I die, and if I'm still Me after that, I shall

keep right on loving you then, of course. You see, I didn't fall in love with you just to have you for myself. I

fell in love with You! And that can never bother you at all nor ever be a shame to me that I love unsought,

because you won't know, and because it's just an ocean of goodwill, and every beat of my heart sends a new

great wave of it toward you and Cora. I shall find happiness, I believe, in service I am sure there will be

times when I can serve you both. I love you both and I can serve her for You and you for her. This isn't a

hysterical mood, or a fit of `exaltation': I have thought it all out and I know that I can live up to it. You are the

best thing that can ever come into her life, and everything I can do shall be to keep you there. I must be very,

very careful with her, for talk and advice do not influence her much. You love her she has accepted you,

and it is beautiful for you both. It must be kept beautiful. It has all become so clear to me: You are just what

she has always needed, and if by any mischance she lost you I do not know what would become "

"Good God!" cried Richard. He sprang to his feet, and the heavy book fell with a muffled crash upon the

floor, sprawling open upon its face, its leaves in disorder. He moved away from it, staring at it in incredulous

Memory, that drowsy custodian, had wakened slowly, during this hour, beginning the process with fitful

gleams of semiconsciousness, then, irritated, searching its pockets for the keys and dazedly exploring blind

passages; but now it flung wide open the gallery doors, and there, in clear light, were the rows of painted

He remembered "that day" when he was waiting for a car, and Laura Madison had stopped for a moment, and

then had gone on, saying she preferred to walk. He remembered that after he got into the car he wondered

why he had not walked home with her; had thought himself "slow" for not thinking of it in time to do it.

There had seemed something very "taking" about her, as she stopped and spoke to him, something enlivening

and wholesome and sweet it had struck him that Laura was a "very nice girl." He had never before noticed

how really charming she could look; in fact he had never thought much about either of the Madison sisters,

who had become "young ladies" during his mourning for his brother. And this pleasant image of Laura

remained with him for several days, until he decided that it might be a delightful thing to spend an evening

with her. He had called, and he remembered, now, Cora's saying to him that he looked at her sometimes as if

he did not like her; he had been surprised and astonishingly pleased to detect a mysterious feeling in her

He remembered that almost at once he had fallen in love with Cora: she captivated him, enraptured him, as

she still did as she always would, he felt, no matter how she treated him or what she did to him. He did

not analyze the process of the captivation and enrapturement for love is a mystery and cannot be analyzed.

. . . Heartsick, he stared at the fallen book. He was a man, and here was the proffered love of a woman he did

not want. There was a pathos in the ledger; it seemed to grovel, sprawling and dishevelled in the circle of

lamplight on the floor: it was as if Laura herself lay pleading at his feet, and he looked down upon her,

compassionate but revolted. He realized with astonishment from what a height she had fallen, how greatly he

had respected her, how warmly liked her. What she now destroyed had been more important than he had

Simple masculine indignation rose within him: she was to have been his sister. If she had been unable to stifle

this misplaced love of hers, could she not at least have kept it to herself? Laura, the selfrespecting! No; she

offered it offered it to her sister's betrothed. She had written that he should "never, never know it"; that

when she was "cured" she would burn the ledger. She had not burned it! There were inconsistencies in plenty

in the pitiful screed, but these were the wildest and the cheapest. In talk, she had urged him to "keep

trying," for Cora, and now the sickminded creature sent him this record. She wanted him to know. Then

He began to walk up and down, wondering what was to be done. After a time, he picked up the book

gingerly, set it upon a shelf in a dark corner, and went for a walk outdoors. The night air seemed better than

At the corner a boy, running, passed him. It was Hedrick Madison, but Hedrick did not recognize Richard,

nor was his mind at that moment concerned with Richard's affairs; he was on an errand of haste to Doctor

Sloane. Mr. Madison had wakened from a heavy slumber unable to speak, his condition obviously much

Hedrick returned in the doctor's car, and then hung uneasily about the door of the sickroom until Laura

came out and told him to go to bed. In the morning, his mother did not appear at the breakfast table, Cora was

serious and quiet, and Laura said that he need not go to school that day, though she added that the doctor

thought their father would get "better." She looked wan and holloweyed: she had not been to bed, but

declared that she would rest after breakfast. Evidently she had not missed her ledger; and Hedrick watched

She did not go to her room after the meal; the house was cold, possessing no furnace, and, with Hedrick's

assistance, she carried out the ashes from the library grate, and built a fire there. She had just lighted it, and

the kindling was beginning to crackle, glowing rosily over her tired face, when the bell rang.

He went with alacrity, and, returning, announced in an odd voice. "It's Dick Lindley. He wants to see you."

"Me?" she murmured, wanly surprised. She was kneeling before the fireplace, wearing an old dress which

was dusted with ashes, and upon her hands a pair of wornout gloves of her father's. Lindley appeared in the

hall behind Hedrick, carrying under his arm something wrapped in brown paper. His expression led her to

"Don't look at me, Richard," she said, smiling faintly as she rose, and stripping her hands of the clumsy

gloves. "It's good of you to come, though. Doctor Sloane thinks he is going to be better again."

"Well," said Hedrick with a slight emphasis, I guess I'll go out in the yard a while." And with shining eyes he

In the hall, out of range from the library door, he executed a triumphant but noiseless caper, and doubled with

mirth, clapping his hand over his mouth to stifle the effervescings of his joy. He had recognized the ledger in

the same wrapping in which he had left it in Mrs. Lindley's vestibule. His moment had come: the climax of

his enormous joke, the repayment in some small measure for the anguish he had so long endured. He crept

silently back toward the door, flattened his back against the wall, and listened.

"Richard," he heard Laura say, a vague alarm in her voice, "what is it? What is the matter?"

Then Lindley: "I did not know what to do about it. I couldn't think of any sensible thing. I suppose what I am

doing is the stupidest of all the things I thought of, but at least it's honest so I've brought it back to you

There was a crackling of the stiff wrapping paper, a little pause, then a strange sound from Laura. It was not

Hedrick ventured an eye at the crack, between the partly open door and its casing. Lindley stood with his

back to him, but the boy had a clear view of Laura. She was leaning against the wall, facing Richard, the

book clutched in both arms against her bosom, the wrapping paper on the floor at her feet.

"I thought of sending it back and pretending to think it had been left at my mother's house by mistake," said

Richard sadly, "and of trying to make it seem that I hadn't read any of it. I thought of a dozen ways to pretend

"Well," he answered, with a helpless shrug, "you sent it! But it's what's in it that really matters, isn't it? I

could have pretended anything in a note, I suppose, if I had written instead of coming. But I found that what I

most dreaded was meeting you again, and as we've got to meet, of course, it seemed to me the only thing to

do was to blunder through a talk with you, somehow or another, and get that part of it over. I thought the

longer I put off facing you, the worse it would be for both of us and and the more embarrassing. I'm no

good at pretending, anyhow; and the thing has happened. What use is there in not being honest? Well?"

She did not try again to speak. Her state was lamentable: it was all in her eyes.

Richard hung his head wretchedly, turning partly away from her. "There's only one way to look at it," he

said hesitatingly, and stammering. "That is there's only one thing to do: to forget that it's happened. I'm

I oh, well, I care for Cora altogether. She's got never to know about this. She hasn't any idea or

"I I'm awfully sorry, Laura," he said brokenly. "I'm not idiot enough not to see that you're suffering

horribly. I suppose I have done the most blundering thing possible." He stood a moment, irresolute, then

Hedrick had just time to dive into the hideous little room of the multitudinous owls as Richard strode into the

Laura stood leaning against the wall, the book clutched in her arms, as Richard had left her. Slowly she began

to sink, her eyes wide open, and, with her back against the wall, she slid down until she was sitting upon the

floor. Her arms relaxed and hung limp at her sides, letting the book topple over in her lap, and she sat

One of her feet protruded from her skirt, and the leaping firelight illumined it ruddily. It was a graceful foot

in an old shoe which had been resoled and patched. It seemed very still, that patched shoe, as if it might stay

still forever. Hedrick knew that Laura had not fainted, but he wished she would move her foot.

He went away. He went into the owlroom again, and stood there silently a long, long time. Then he stole

back again toward the library door, but caught a glimpse of that old, motionless shoe through the doorway as

he came near. Then he spied no more. He went out to the stable, and, secluding himself in his studio, sat

Something was the matter. Something had gone wrong. He had thrown a bomb which he had expected to go

off with a stupendous bang, leaving him, as the smoke cleared, looking down in merry triumph, stinging his

fallen enemies with his humour, withering them with satire, and inquiring of them how it felt, now they were

getting it. But he was decidedly untriumphant: he wished Laura had moved her foot and that she hadn't that

patch upon her shoe. He could not get his mind off that patch. He began to feel very queer: it seemed to be

somehow because of the patch. If she had worn a pair of new shoes that morning. . . . Yes, it was that patch.

Thirteen is a dangerous age: nothing is more subtle. The boy, inspired to play the man, is beset by his own

By and by, he went into the house again, to the library. Laura was not there, but he found the fire almost

He went into the room where the piano was, and played "The Girl on the Saskatchewan" with one finger;

After that, he went upstairs and asked Miss Peirce how his father was "feeling," receiving a noncommital

reply; looked in at Cora's room; saw that his mother was lying asleep on Cora's bed and Cora herself

examining the contents of a dressingtable drawer; and withdrew. A moment later, he stood in the passage

He retired to his own chamber, found it unbearable, and, fascinated by Laura's, returned thither; and, after

"Laura," he called, in a rough and careless voice, "it's kind of a pretty day outdoors. If you've had your nap, if

I was you I'd go out for a walk." There was no response. "I'll go with you," he added, "if you want me to."

He listened again and heard nothing. Then he turned the knob softly. The door was unlocked; he opened it

Laura was sitting in a chair, with her back to a window, her hands in her lap. She was staring straight in front

He came near her hesitatingly, and at first she did not seem to see him or even to know that she was not alone

in the room. Then she looked at him wonderingly, and, as he stood beside her, lifted her right hand and set it

All at once he fell upon his knees, hid his face in her lap, and burst into loud and passionate sobbing.

Valentine Corliss, having breakfasted in bed at a late hour that morning, dozed again, roused himself, and,

making a toilet, addressed to the image in his shavingmirror a disgusted monosyllable.

However, he had not the look of a man who had played cards all night to a disastrous tune with an

accompaniment in Scotch. His was a surface not easily indented: he was hard and healthy, clearskinned and

cleareyed. When he had made himself pointdevice, he went into the "parlour" of his apartment, frowning

at the litter of malodorous, relics, stumps and stubs and bottles and halfdrained glasses, scattered chips and

He sat at the desk and wrote with a steady hand in Italian: Most illustrious Moliterno:

We live but learn little. As to myself it appears that I learn nothing nothing! You will at once convey to

me by cable five thousand lire. No; add the difference in exchange so as to make it one thousand dollars

which I shall receive, taking that sum from the twohundred and thirty thousand lire which I entrusted to

your safekeeping by cable as the result of my enterprise in this place. I should have returned at once, content

with that success, but as you know I am a very stupid fellow, never pleased with a moderate triumph, nor

with a large one, when there is a possible prospect of greater. I am compelled to believe that the greater I had

in mind in this case was an illusion: my gentle diplomacy avails nothing against a small miser for we have

misers even in these States, though you will not believe it. I abandon him to his riches! From the success of

my venture I reserved four thousand dollars to keep by me and for my expenses, and it is humiliating to relate

that all of this, except a small banknote or two, was taken from me last night by amateurs. I should keep away

from cards they hate me, and alone I can do nothing with them. Some young gentlemen of the place,

whose acquaintance I had made at a ball, did me the honour of this lesson at the native game of poker, at

which I though also native am not even so expert as yourself, and, as you will admit, Antonio, my

Unaided, I was a child in their hands. It was also a painful rule that one paid for the counters upon delivery.

This made me ill, but I carried it off with an air of carelessness creditable to an adopted Neapolitan. Upon

receipt of the money you are to cable me, I shall leave this town and sail immediately. Come to Paris, and

meet me there at the place on the Rue Auber within ten days from your reading this letter. You will have,

remaining, two hundred and twentyfive thousand francs, which it will be safer to bring in cash, and I will

deal well with you, as is our custom with each other. You have done excellently throughout; your cables and

letters for exhibition concerning those famous oil wells have been perfection; and I shall of course not deduct

what was taken by these thieves of poker players from the sum of profits upon which we shall estimate your

commission. I have several times had the feeling that the hour for departure had arrived; now I shall delay not

a moment after receiving your cable, though I may occupy the interim with a last attempt to interest my small

miser. Various circumstances cause me some uneasiness, though I do not believe I could be successfully

assailed by the law in the matter of oil. You do own an estate in Basilicata, at least your brother does these

good people here would not be apt to discover the difference and the rest is a matter of plausibility. The

Pryor, fretted me somewhat (though he has not repeated his annoying call), and I have other small

apprehensions for example, that it may not improve my credit if my loss of last night becomes gossip,

though the thieves professed strong habits of discretion. My little affair of gallantry grows embarrassing.

Such affairs are so easy to inaugurate; extrication is more difficult. However, without it I should have failed

to interest my investor and there is always the charm. Your last letter is too curious in that matter. Licentious

man, one does not write of these things while under the banner of the illustrious Uncle Sam I am

assuming the American attitude while here, or perhaps my early youth returns to me a thing very different

from your own boyhood, Don Antonio. Nevertheless, I promise you some laughter in the Rue Auber. Though

you will not be able to understand the half of what I shall tell you particularly the portraits I shall sketch

To the bank, then, the instant you read. Cable me one thousand dollars, and be at the Rue Auber not more

He was in better spirits as he read over this letter, and he chuckled as he addressed it. He pictured himself in

the rear room of the bar in the Rue Auber, relating, across the little marbletopped table, this American

adventure, to the delight of that blithe, ne'erdowell outcast of an exalted poor family, that gambler,

blackmailer and merry rogue, Don Antonio Moliterno, comrade and teacher of this ductile Valentine since the

later days of adolescence. They had been schoolfellows in Rome, and later roamed Europe together

unleashed, discovering worlds of many kinds. Valentine's careless mother let her boy go as he liked, and was

often negligent in the matter of remittances: he and his friend learned ways to raise the wind, becoming

expert and making curious affiliations. At her death there was a small inheritance; she had not been

provident. The little she left went rocketing, and there was the wind to be raised again: young Corliss had

wits and had found that they could supply him most of the time with much more than the necessities of

life. He had also found that he possessed a strong attraction for various women; already at twentytwo

his experience was considerable, and, in his way, he became a specialist. He had a talent; he improved it and

his opportunities. Altogether, he took to the work without malice and with a light heart. . . .

He sealed the envelope, rang for a boy, gave him the letter to post, and directed that the apartment should be

set to rights. It was not that in which he had received Ray Vilas. Corliss had moved to rooms on another floor

of the hotel, the day after that eccentric and somewhat ominous person had called to make an "investment."

Ray's shadowy forebodings concerning that former apartment had encountered satire: Corliss was a

"materialist" and, at the mildest estimate, an unusually practical man, but he would never sleep in a bed with

its foot toward the door; southern Italy had seeped into him. He changed his rooms, a measure of which Don

Antonio Moliterno would have wholly approved. Besides, these were as comfortable as the others, and so like

them as even to confirm Ray's statement concerning "A Reading from Homer": evidently this work had been

A boy came to announce that his "roadster" waited for him at the hotel entrance, and Corliss put on a fur

motoring coat and cap, and went downstairs. A door leading from the hotel bar into the lobby was open, and,

Ray Vilas stumbled out, tousled, haggard, waving his arms in absurd and meaningless gestures; an amused

"Goin' take Carmen buggy ride in the country, ain't he? Good ole Tor'dor!" he quavered loudly, clutching

Corliss's shoulder. "How much you s'pose he pays f' that buzzbuggy by the day, jeli'm'n? Naughty Tor'dor,

stole thousand dollars from me makin' presents diamond cresses. Tor'dor, I hear you been playing

cards. Tha's sn't nice. Tor'dor, you're not a goo' boy at all you know you oughtn't waste Dick Lindley's

Corliss set his open hand upon the drunkard's breast and sent him gyrating and plunging backward. Some one

"Oh, my God," screamed Ray, "I haven't got a gun on me! He knows I haven't got my gun with me! Why

They hustled him away, and Corliss, enraged and startled, passed on. As he sped the car up Corliss Street, he

decided to anticipate his letter to Moliterno by a cable. He had stayed too long.

Cora looked charming in a new equipment for November motoring; yet it cannot be said that either of them

enjoyed the drive. They lunched a dozen miles out from the city at an establishment somewhat in the nature

of a roadside inn; and, although its cuisine was quite unknown to Cora's friend, Mrs. Villard (an eager

amateur of the table), they were served with a meal of such unusual excellence that the waiter thought it a

They returned at about three in the afternoon, and Cora descended from the car wearing no very amiable

"Why won't you come in now?" she asked, looking at him angrily. "We've got to talk things out. We've

She shook her head. "Oh, it wouldn't surprise me in the least! How do I know what you'll do? For all I know,

"Cora," he explained, gently, "I didn't say I meant to go. I said only that I thought I ought to, because

Moliterno will be needing me in Basilicata. I ought to be there, since it appears that no more money is to be

raised here. I ought to be superintending operations in the oilfield, so as to make the best use of the little I

He sighed deeply. "You know perfectly well that I appreciate all you did. We don't seem to get on very well

"Cora," he returned, goaded; "sometimes you're just impossible. I'll come tomorrow forenoon."

"Then don't bring the car. I'm tired of motoring and tired of lunching in that rotten hole. We can talk just as

well in the library. Papa's better, and that little fiend will be in school tomorrow. Come out about ten."

She walked up the path to the house, her face thoughtful, as with a tiresome perplexity. In her own room,

divesting herself of her wraps, she gave the mirror a long scrutiny. It offered the picture of a girl with a hard

and dreary air; but Cora saw something else, and presently, though the dreariness remained, the hardness

softened to a great compassion. She suffered: a warm wave of sorrow submerged her, and she threw herself

At last her eyes dried, and she lay staring at the ceiling. The doorbell rang, and Sarah, the cook, came to

Thus abandoned, the prostrate lady put into a few words what she felt about Sarah, and, going to the door,

"Richard is downstairs. Will you go and tell him I'm sick in bed or dead? Anything to make him go." And,

assuming Laura's acquiescence, Cora went on, without pause: "Is father worse? What's the matter with you,

Laura walked to the window and stood with her back to her sister, apparently interested in the view of Corliss

Street there presented. "Cora," she said, "why don't you marry him and have done with all this?"

"Why not? Why not marry him as soon as you can get ready? Why don't you go down now and tell him you

"I don't know about that," said Cora moodily. "He might object to some things but it doesn't matter,

because I'm not going to try him. I don't mind a man's being a fool, but I can't stand the absentminded breed

of idiot. I've worn his diamond in the pendant right in his eyes for weeks; he's never once noticed it enough

even to ask me about the pendant, but bores me to death wanting to know why I won't wear the ring!

Anyhow, what's the use talking about him? He couldn't marry me right now, even if I wanted him to not

till he begins to get something on the investment he made with Val. Outside of that, he's got nothing except

his rooms at his mother's; she hasn't much either; and if Richard should lose what he put in with Val, he

couldn't marry for years, probably. That's what made him so obstinate about it. No; if I ever marry right off

"Cora" Laura still spoke from the window, not turning "aren't you tired of it all, of this getting so upset

"Tired!" Cora uttered the word in a repressed fury of emphasis. "I'm sick of everything! I don't care for

anything or anybody on this earth except except you and mamma. I thought I was going to love Val. I

thought I did but oh, my Lord, I don't! I don't think I can care any more. Or else there isn't any such thing

as love. How can anybody tell whether there is or not? You get kind of crazy over a man and want to go the

limit or marry him perhaps or sometimes you just want to make him crazy about you and then you

get over it and what is there left but hell!" She choked with a sour laugh. "Ugh! For heaven's sake, Laura,

don't make me talk. Everything's gone to the devil and I've got to think. The best thing you can do is to go

"You're a darling," whispered Cora, kissing her quickly. "Tell him I'm in a raging headache make him

think I wanted to see him, but you wouldn't let me, because I'm too ill." She laughed. "Give me a little time,

It was Mrs. Madison who informed the waiting Richard that Cora was unable to see him, because she was

"lying down"; and the young man, after properly inquiring about Mr. Madison, went blankly forth.

Hedrick was stalking the front yard, mounted at a great height upon a pair of stilts. He joined the departing

visitor upon the sidewalk and honoured him with his company, proceeding storkishly beside him.

"Nothing whatever, my dear sir. I wished merely the honour of seeing her and chatting with her upon

"Worn out with too much automobile riding, I expect," Hedrick sniffed. "She goes out about every day with

They walked on in silence. Not far from Mrs. Lindley's, Hedrick abruptly became vocal in an artificial laugh.

Richard was obviously intended to inquire into its cause, but, as he did not, Hedrick, after laughing hollowly

"No, I believe I shouldn't. You see what makes it so hard, Hedrick, is that I can't even remember seeing you,

Hedrick made another somewhat ghastly pretence of mirth. "Well, I guess I've had about all the fun out of it

I'm going to. Might as well tell you. It was that book of Laura's you thought she sent you."

Richard stopped short; whereupon Hedrick turned clumsily, and began to stalk back in the direction from

"She never sent it," called the boy, continuing to walk away. "She kept it hid, and I found it. I faked her into

writing your name on a sheet of paper, and made you think she'd sent the old thing to you. I just did it for a

With too retching an effort to simulate another burst of merriment, he caught the stump of his right stilt in a

pavement crack, wavered, cut in the air a figure like a geometrical proposition gone mad, and came whacking

Richard took him to Mrs. Lindley for repairs. She kept him until dark: Hedrick was bandaged, led, lemonaded

That was a long night for Cora Madison, and the morning found her yellow. She made a poor breakfast, and

returned from the table to her own room, but after a time descended restlessly and wandered from one room

to another, staring out of the windows. Laura had gone out; Mrs. Madison was with her husband, whom she

seldom left; Hedrick had departed ostensibly for school; and the house was as still as a farm in winter an

intolerable condition of things for an effervescent young woman whose diet was excitement. Cora, drumming

with her fingers upon a window in the owlhaunted cell, made noises with her throat, her breath and her lips

"Now what in thunder do you want?" she inquired of an elderly man who turned in from the sidewalk and

Pryor, having rung, found himself confronted with the lady he had come to seek. Ensued the moment of

strangers meeting: invisible antennae extended and touched; at the contact, Cora's drew in, and she looked

"I just called," he said placatively, smiling as if some humour lurked in his intention, "to ask how your father

"I thought I'd just stop and ask about him. I heard he'd had another bad spell kind of a second stroke."

"That was night before last. The doctor thinks he's improved very much since then."

The door was closing; he coughed hastily, and detained it by speaking again. "I've called several times to

inquire about him, but I believe it's the first time I've had the pleasure of speaking to you, Miss Madison. I'm

Mr. Pryor." She appeared to find no comment necessary, and he continued: "Your father did a little business

for me, several years ago, and when I was here on my vacation, this summer, I was mighty sorry to hear of

his sickness. I've had a nice bit of luck lately and got a second furlough, so I came out to spend a couple of

"Yes," he returned. "But I was mighty sorry to hear your father wasn't much better than when I left. The truth

is, I wanted to have a talk with him, and I've been reproaching myself a good deal that I didn't go ahead with

it last summer, when he was well, only I thought then it mightn't be necessary might be disturbing things

"I know, I know," said Pryor, "of course. I wonder" he hesitated, smiling faintly "I wonder if I could

"Oh, it isn't business," he laughed, observing her expression. "That is, not exactly." His manner became very

serious. "It's about a friend of mine at least, a man I know pretty well. Miss Madison, I saw you driving

out through the park with him, yesterday noon, in an automobile. Valentine Corliss."

Cora stared at him. Honesty, friendliness, and grave concern were disclosed to her scrutiny. There was no

mistaking him: he was a good man. Her mouth opened, and her eyelids flickered as from a too sudden

invasion of light the look of one perceiving the close approach of a vital crisis. But there was no surprise

. . . . When Corliss arrived, at about eleven o'clock that morning, Sarah brought him to the library, where he

found Cora waiting for him. He had the air of a man determined to be cheerful under adverse conditions: he

"Keep away from me," she said, pushing him back sharply, the next instant. "I've had enough of that for a

He sank into a chair, affecting desolation. "Caresses blighted in the bud! Cora, one would think us really

She walked across the floor to a window, turned there, with her back to the light, and stood facing him, her

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, noting this attitude. "Is it the trial scene from a faded melodrama?" She

looked steadily at him without replying. "What's it all about today?" he asked lightly. "I'll try to give you the

"It's very effective," he observed. "Brings out the figure, too. Do forgive me if you're serious, dear lady, but

never in my life was I able to take the foldedarms business seriously. It was used on the stage of all

countries so much that I believe most newschool actors have dropped it. They think it lacks genuineness."

Cora waited a moment longer, then spoke. "How much chance have I to get Richard Lindley's money back

"I had a caller, this morning," she said, slowly. "He talked about you quite a lot! He's told me several

At that he jumped up, stepped quickly close to her, and swept her with an intense and brilliant scrutiny.

He swung away from her, back to his chair, dropped into it and began to laugh. "Old Pryor! Doddering old

Pryor! Doddering old ass of a Pryor! So he did! Blood of an angel! what a stew, what a stew!" He rose again,

She came toward him. "He told me you were notorious over half of Europe," she cried vehemently. "He said

he'd arrested you himself, once, in Rotterdam, for smuggling jewels, and that you were guilty, but managed to

squirm out of it. He said the police had put you out of Germany and you'd be arrested if you ever tried to go

back. He said there were other places you didn't dare set foot in, and he said he could have you arrested in

this country any time he wanted to, and that he was going to do it if he found you'd been doing anything

He caught her by the shoulder. "See here, Cora, do you believe all this tommyrot?"

She shook his hand off instantly. "Believe it? I know it! There isn't a straight line in your whole soul and

mind: you're crooked all over. You've been crooked with me from the start. The moment that man began to

speak, I knew every word of it was true. He came to me because he thought it was right: he hasn't anything

against you on his own account; he said he liked you! I knew it was true, I tell you."

He tried to put his hand on her shoulder again, beginning to speak remonstratingly, but she cried out in a rage,

"Keep away! Do you suppose I like you to touch me? He told me you always had been a wonder with

women! Said you were famous for `handling them the right way' using them! Ah, that was pleasant

information for me, wasn't it! Yes, I could have confirmed him on that point. He wanted to know if I thought

you'd been doing anything of that sort here. What he meant was: Had you been using me?"

"Ha! That gets into you, does it?" she returned bitterly. "You can't overdo your fear of that man, I think, but I

didn't tell him anything. I just listened and thanked him for the warning, and said I'd have nothing more to do

with you. How could I tell him? Wasn't it I that made papa lend you his name, and got Richard to hand over

his money? Where does that put me?" She choked; sobs broke her voice. "Every every soul in town would

point me out as a laughingstock the easiest fool out of the asylum! Do you suppose I want you arrested

and the whole thing in the papers? What I want is Richard's money back, and I'm going to have it!"

"No." He smiled faintly, and went on. "Now, all this nonsense of old Pryor's isn't worth denying. I have met

"Wait!" he said. "I told you I'd cut quite a swathe, when I first talked to you about myself. Let it go for the

"As soon as Lindley paid in his check I gave him his stock certificates, and cabled the money to be used at

"What! That man told me you'd `promoted' a South American rubber company once, among people of the

"You'd as well be patient, Cora. Now, that money has probably been partially spent, by this time, on tools and

"I'll show you. But first I'd like you to under stand that nothing can be done to me. There's nothing `on' me!

I've acted in good faith, and if the venture in oil is unsuccessful, and the money lost, I can't be held legally

responsible, nor can any one prove that I am. I could bring forty witnesses from Naples to swear they have

helped to bore the wells. I'm safe as your stubborn friend, Mr. Trumble, himself. But now then, suppose that

old Pryor is right as of course he isn't suppose it, merely for a moment, because it will aid me to

convey something to your mind. If I were the kind of man he says I am, and, being such a man, had planted

the money out of reach, for my own use, what on earth would induce me to give it back?"

"You see," he said quietly, "it would be impossible. We must go on supposing for a moment: if I had put that

"You'd better!" she cried fiercely. "He's going to find out everything you've been doing. He said so. He's

heard a rumour that you were trying to raise money here; he told me so, and said he'd soon "

"The better reason for not delaying, perhaps. Cora, see here!" He moved nearer her. "Wouldn't I need a lot of

He flushed heavily. "Well, aren't you?" He paused, to stare at her, as she wrung her hands and sobbed with

hysterical laughter. "I thought," he went on, slowly, "that you would possibly even insist on that."

"Oh, Lord, Lord, Lord!" She stamped her foot, and with both hands threw the tears from her eyes in wide and

"I tell you I didn't let him think anything! He said you would never be able to get a divorce: that your wife

"See here, Cora," he said harshly, "I told you I'd been married; I told you before I ever kissed you. You

"I did not! You said you had been. You laughed about it. You made me think it was something that had

"You told me after! And then you made me think you could easily get one that it was only a matter of

"Cora," he interrupted, "you're the most elaborate little selfdeceiver I ever knew. I don't believe you've ever

He came closer, meeting her distraught eyes squarely. "You love to fool yourself, Cora, but the role of

betrayed virtue doesn't suit you very well. You're young, but you're a pretty experienced woman for all that,

and you haven't done anything you didn't want to. You've had both eyes open every minute, and we both

"You're lying and you know it! What did I want to make Richard go into your scheme for? You made a fool

"I'm not speaking of the money now," he returned quickly. "You'd better keep your mind on the subject. Are

"What for?" he echoed incredulously. "I want to know if you're coming. I promise you I'll get a divorce as

"Val," she said, in a tone lower than she had used since he entered the room; "Val, do you want me to come?"

"It makes me sick with laughing just to imagine it! I've done some hard little thinking, lately, my friend

particularly last night, and still more particularly this morning since that man was here. I'd cut my throat

before I'd go with you. If you had your divorce I wouldn't marry you not if you were the last man on

"Cora," he cried, aghast, "what's the matter with you? You're too many for me sometimes. I thought I

understood a few kinds of women! Now listen: I've offered to take you, and you can't say "

"Offered!" It was she who came toward him now. She came swiftly, shaking with rage, and struck him upon

the breast. "`Offered'! Do you think I want to go trailing around Europe with you while Dick Lindley's money

lasts? What kind of a life are you `offering' me? Do you suppose I'm going to have everybody saying Cora

Madison ran away with a jailbird? Do you think I'm going to dodge decent people in hotels and steamers,

and leave a name in this town that Oh, get out! I don't want any help from you! I can take care of myself, I

tell you; and I don't have to marry you! I'd kill you if I could you made a fool of me!" Her voice rose

She screamed with hysterical laughter. "Liar, liar, liar! The same old guff. Don't you even see it's too late for

"You poor, conceited fool," she cried, "do you think you're the only man I can marry?"

"Oh, get out! Get out now! I'm tired of you. I never want to hear you speak again."

"No! You made a fool of me!" She beat him upon the breast, striking again and again, with all her strength.

"Get out get out!" she screamed. She pushed and dragged him toward the door, and threw it open. Her

voice thickened; she choked and coughed, but kept on screaming: "Get out, I tell you! Get out, get out, damn

Still continuing to strike him with all her strength, she forced him out of the door.

Cora lost no time. Corliss had not closed the front door behind him before she was running up the stairs. Mrs.

Madison, emerging from her husband's room, did not see her daughter's face; for Cora passed her quickly,

"Nothing in the world," Cora flung back over her shoulder. "Mr. Corliss said I couldn't imitate Sara

Bernhardt, and I showed him I could." She began to hum; left a fragment of "ragtime" floating behind her as

Cora changed her clothes quickly. She put on a pale gray skirt and coat for the street, high shoes and a black

velvet hat, very simple. The costume was almost startlingly becoming to her: never in her life had she looked

prettier. She opened her, small jewelcase, slipped all her rings upon her fingers; then put the diamond

crescent, the pendant, her watch, and three or four other things into the flat, envelopeshaped bag of soft

leather she carried when shopping. After that she brought from her clothespantry a small travellingbag and

Laura, returning from errands downtown and glancing up at Cora's window, perceived an urgently

The packed bag upon the bed first caught her eye; then Cora's attire, and the excited expression of Cora's

"What's happened?" asked Laura quickly. "You look exactly like a goingaway bride. What "

Cora spoke rapidly: "Laura, I want you to take this bag and keep it in your room till a messengerboy comes

for it. When the bell rings, go to the door yourself, and hand it to him. Don't give Hedrick a chance to go to

the door. Just give it to the boy; and don't say anything to mamma about it. I'm going downtown and I

Cora was swift and businesslike. "See here, Laura, I've got to keep my head about me. You can do a great

deal for me, if you won't be emotional just now, and help me not to be. I can't afford it, because I've got to do

things, and I'm going to do them just as quickly as I can, and get it over. If I wait any longer I'll go insane. I

can't wait! You've been a wonderful sister to me; I've always counted on you, and you've never once gone

back on me. Right now, I need you to help me more than I ever have in my life. Will you "

"No, you needn't! I'll tell you just this much: I've got myself in a devil of a mess "

But Cora drew away. "Now that's just what you mustn't do. I can't stand it! You've got to be quiet. I can't

"It's perfectly simple: all I want you to do is to take charge of my travellingbag, and, when a messengerboy

"Yes, you can! Besides, you've promised to. I'm not going to do anything foolish "

"Then why not tell me?" Laura began. She went on, imploring Cora to confide in her, entreating her to see

"You're wasting your breath, Laura," said the younger sister, interrupting, "and wasting my time. You're in

the dark: you think I'm going to run away with Val Corliss and you're wrong. I sent him out of the house for

"I'm going to take care of myself," Cora went on rapidly. "I'm going to get out of the mess I'm in, and you've

got to let me do it my own way. I'll send you a note from downtown. You see that the messenger "

She was at the door, but Laura caught her by the sleeve, protesting and beseeching.

Cora turned desperately. "See here. I'll come back in two hours and tell you all about it. If I promise that, will

Cora spoke very quietly. "I'll go to pieces in a moment. Really, I do think I'd better jump out of the window

"I'll send the bag," Laura quavered, "if you'll promise to come back in two hours."

Cora gave her a quick embrace, a quick kiss, and, dryeyed, ran out of the room, down the stairs, and out of

She walked briskly down Corliss Street. It was a clear day, bright noon, with an exhilarating tang in the air,

and a sky so glorious that people outdoors were continually conscious of the blue overhead, and looked up at

it often. An autumnal cheerfulness was abroad, and pedestrians showed it in their quickened steps, in their

enlivened eyes, and frequent smiles, and in the colour of their faces. But none showed more colour or a gayer

look than Cora. She encountered many whom she knew, for it was indeed a day to be stirring, and she nodded

and smiled her way all down the long street, thinking of what these greeted people would say tomorrow. "I

saw her yesterday, walking down Corliss Street, about noon, in a gray suit and looking fairly radiant!" Some

of those she met were enemies she had chastened; she prophesied their remarks with accuracy. Some were

old suitors, men who had desired her; one or two had place upon her long list of boysweethearts: she gave

the same gay, friendly nod to each of them, and foretold his morrow's thoughts of her, in turn. Her greeting of

Mary Kane was graver, as was aesthetically appropriate, Mr. Wattling's engagement having been broken by

that lady, immediately after his drive to the Country Club for tea. Cora received from the beautiful jilt a

Halfway down the street was a drugstore. She went in, and obtained appreciative permission to use the

telephone. She came out well satisfied, and went swiftly on her way. Ten minutes later, she opened the door

He was alone; her telephone had caught him in the act of departing for lunch. But he had been glad to wait

"By George, Cora!" he exclaimed, as she came quickly in and closed the door, "but you can look stunning!

Believe me, that's some getup. But let me tell you right here and now, before you begin, it's no use your

tackling me again on the oil proposition. If there was any chance of my going into it which there wasn't, not

one on earth why, the very fact of your asking me would have stopped me. I'm no Dick Lindley, I beg to

inform you: I don't spend my money helping a girl that I want, myself, to make a hit with another man. You

treated me like a dog about that, right in the street, and you needn't try it again, because I won't stand for it.

"Wade," she said, coming closer, and looking at him mysteriously, "didn't you tell me to come to you when I

"What?" He grew very red, took a step back from her, staring at her distrustfully, incredulously.

He had flushed, but now the colour left his small face, and he grew very white. "I don't believe you mean it."

"Listen," she said. "I was rotten to you about that oil nonsense. It was nonsense, nothing on earth but

nonsense. I tell you frankly I was a fool. I didn't care the snap of my finger for Corliss, but oh, what's the

use of pretending? You were always such a great `business man,' always so absorbed in business, and put it

before everything else in the world. You cared for me, but you cared for business more than for me. Well, no

woman likes that, Wade. I've come to tell you the whole thing: I can't stand it any longer. I suffered horribly

"I thought I hated you for it, Wade. Yes, I did think that; I'm telling you everything, you see just blurting it

out as it comes, Wade. Well, Corliss asked me to help him, and it struck me I'd show that I could understand

a business deal, myself. Wade, this is pretty hard to say, I was such a little fool, but you ought to know it.

You've got a right to know it, Wade: I thought if I put through a thing like that, it would make a tremendous

hit with you, and that then I could say: `So this is the kind of thing you put ahead of me, is it? Simple little

things like this, that I can do, myself, by turning over my little finger!' So I got Richard to go in that was

easy; and then it struck me that the crowning triumph of the whole thing would be to get you to come in

yourself. That would be showing you, I thought! But you wouldn't: you put me in my place and I was

angry I never was so angry in my life, and I showed it." Tears came into her voice. "Oh, Wade," she said,

"About about me?" His incredulity struggled with his hope. He stepped close to her.

Why, I thought I could show you I was your equal! And look what it's got me into, Wade!"

"One thing worth while: I can see what I really am when I try to meet you on your own ground." She bent her

head, humbly, then lifted it, and spoke rapidly. "All the rest is dreadful, Wade. I had a distrust of Corliss from

the first; I didn't like him, but I took him up because I thought he offered the chance to show you what I could

"Listen. I got horribly tired of him after a week or so, but I'd promised to help him and I didn't break with

him; but yesterday I just couldn't stand him any longer and I told him so, and sent him away. Then, this

morning, an old man came to the house, a man named Pryor, who knew him and knew his record, and he told

"Yesterday, I tell you." She set her hand on the little man's shoulder. "Wade, there's bound to be a scandal

over all this. Even if Corliss gets away without being arrested and tried, the whole thing's bound to come out.

I'll be the laughingstock of the town and I deserve to be: it's all through having been ridiculous idiot

enough to try and impress you with my business brilliancy. Well, I can't stand it!"

She leaned toward him, her hand still on his shoulder, her exquisite voice lowered, and thrilling in its

sweetness. "Wade, I'm through playing. I've come to you at last because you've utterly conquered me. If

Rapture it was. With the word "marry," his incredulity sped forever. But for a time he was incoherent: he

leaped and hopped, spoke broken bits of words, danced fragmentarily, ate her with his eyes, partially

"No!" she said sharply. "We'll be married by a Justice of the Peace and not a soul there but us, and it will be

"Then we'll be out of this town on the three o'clock train this afternoon," she said. She went on with her plans,

while he, growing more accustomed to his privilege, caressed her as he would. "You shall have your way,"

she said, "in everything except the weddingjourney. That's got to be a long one I won't come back here

till people have forgotten all about this Corliss mixup. I've never been abroad, and I want you to take me.

We can stay a long, long time. I've brought nothing we'll get whatever we want in New York before we

He agreed to everything. He had never really hoped to win her; paradise had opened, dazing him with glory:

"Hadn't you better run along and get the license?" she laughed. "We'll have to be married on the way to the

He obtained a moderate control of his voice and feet. "Enfield that's my cashier he'll be back from his

lunch at onethirty. Tell him about us, if I'm not here by then. Tell him he's got to manage somehow.

At the door he turned. "Oh, have you you " He paused uncertainly. "Have you sent Richard Lindley

"Wade!" She gave his inquiry an indulgent amusement. "If I'm not worrying about him, do you think you

"You funny thing," she said. "I never had any idea of really marrying him; it wasn't anything but one of those

"I didn't mean that, "he said, apologetically. "I meant about letting him know what this Pryor told you about

Corliss, so that Richard might do something toward getting his money back. We ought to

"No. I sent him a note. He knows all about it by this time, if he has been home this morning. You'd better

start, Wade. Send a messenger to our house for my bag. Tell him to bring it here and then take a note for me.

"Cora!" he shouted, took her in his arms, and was gone. His departing gait down the corridor to the elevator

Left alone, Cora wrote, sealed, and directed a note to Laura. In it she recounted what Pryor had told her of

Corliss; begged Laura and her parents not to think her heartless in not preparing them for this abrupt

marriage. She was in such a state of nervousness, she wrote, that explanations would have caused a

breakdown. The marriage was a sensible one; she had long contemplated it as a possibility; and, after

thinking it over thoroughly, she had decided it was the only thing to do. She sent her undying love.

She was sitting with this note in her hand when shuffling footsteps sounded in the corridor; either Wade's

cashier or the messenger, she supposed. The doorknob turned, a husky voice asking, "Want a drink?" as the

Cora was not surprised she knew Vilas's office was across the hall from that in which she waited but

It is probable that he got the truth out of her perhaps all of it. That will remain a matter of doubt; Cora's

evidence, if she gave it, not being wholly trustworthy in cases touching herself. But she felt no need of

mentioning to any one that she had seen her former lover that day. He had gone before the return of Enfield,

Mr. Trumble's assistant, who was a little later than usual, it happened; and the extreme nervousness and

preoccupation exhibited by Cora in telling Enfield of his employer's new plans were attributed by the cashier

to the natural agitation of a lady about to wed in a somewhat unusual (though sensible) manner.

It is the more probable that she told Ray the whole truth, because he already knew something of Corliss's

record abroad. On the dusty desk in Ray's own office lay a letter, received that morning from the American

Consul at Naples, which was luminous upon that subject, and upon the probabilities of financial returns for

In addition, Cora had always found it very difficult to deceive Vilas: he had an almost perfect understanding

of a part of her nature; she could never far mislead him about herself. With her, he was intuitive and jumped

to strange, inconsistent, true conclusions, as women do. He had the art of reading her face, her gestures; he

had learned to listen to the tone of her voice more than to what she said. In his cups, too, he had fitful but

And, remembering that Cora always "got even," it remains finally to wonder if she might not have told him

everything at the instance of some shadowy impulse in that direction. There may have been a luxury in

whatever confession she made; perhaps it was not entirely forced from her, and heaven knows how she may

have coloured it. There was an elusive, quiet satisfaction somewhere in her subsequent expression; it lurked

deep under the surface of the excitement with which she talked to Enfield of her imminent marital abduction

Her agitation, a relic of the unknown interview just past, simmered down soon, leaving her in a becoming

glow of colour, with slender threads of moisture brilliantly outlining her eyelids. Mr. Enfield, a young,

wellfavoured and recent importation from another town, was deliciously impressed by the charm of the

waiting lady. They had not met; and Enfield wondered how Trumble had compassed such an enormous

success as this; and he wished that he had seen her before matters had gone so far. He thought he might have

had a chance. She seemed pleasantly interested in him, even as it was and her eyes were wonderful, with

their swift, warm, direct little plunges into those of a chance comrade of the moment. She went to the

window, in her restlessness, looking down upon the swarming street below, and the young man, standing

beside her, felt her shoulder most pleasantly though very lightly in contact with his own, as they leaned

forward, the better to see some curiosity of advertising that passed. She turned her face to his just then, and

told him that he must come to see her: the wedding journey would be long, she said, but it would not be

Trumble bounded in, shouting that everything was attended to, except instructions to Enfield, whom he

pounded wildly upon the back. He began signing papers; a stenographer was called from another room of his

offices; and there was half an hour of rapidfire. Cora's bag came, and she gave the bearer the note for Laura;

another bag was brought for Wade; and both bags were carried down to the automobile the bridegroom had

left waiting in the street. Last, came a splendid cluster of orchids for the bride to wear, and then Wade, with

his arm about her, swept her into the corridor, and the stirred Enfield was left to his own beating heart, and

the fresh, radiant vision of this startling new acquaintance: the sweet mystery of the look she had thrown back

at him over his employer's shoulder at the very last. "Do not forget me!" it had seemed to say. "We shall

The closed car bore the pair to the little grim marriageshop quickly enough, though they were nearly run

down by a furious police patrol automobile, at a corner near the Richfield Hotel. Their escape was by a very

narrow margin of safety, and Cora closed her eyes. Then she was cross, because she had been frightened, and

Wade obeyed sympathetically. "Of course, though, it wasn't altogether his fault," he said, settling back, his

arm round his lady's waist. "It's an outrage for the police to break their own rules that way. I guess they don't

As they stood so briefly before him, there swept across her vision the memory of what she had always

prophesied as her wedding: a crowded church, "The Light That Breathed O'er Eden" from an unseen

singer; then the warm air trembling to the Lohengrin march; all heads turning; the procession down the aisle;

herself appearing climax of everything a delicious and brilliant figure: graceful, rosy, shy, an imperial

prize for the groom, who in these foreshadowings had always been very indistinct. The picture had always

failed in outline there: the bridegroom's nearest approach to definition had never been clearer than a

composite photograph. The truth is, Cora never in her life wished to be married.

Valentine Corliss had nothing to do but to wait for the money his friend Antonio would send him by cable.

His own cable, anticipating his letter, had been sent yesterday, when he came back to the hotel, after lunching

As he walked down Corliss Street, after his tumultuous interview with her, he was surprised to find himself

physically tremulous: he had not supposed that an encounter, however violent, with an angry woman could so

upset his nerves. It was no fear of Pryor which shook him. He knew that Pryor did not mean to cause his

arrest certainly not immediately. Of course, Pryor knew that Cora would tell him. The old fellow's move

was a final notification. It meant: "Get out of town within twentyfour hours." And Corliss intended to obey.

He would have left that evening, indeed, without the warning; his trunk was packed.

He would miss Cora. He had kept a cool head throughout their affair until the last; but this morning she had

fascinated him: and he found himself passionately admiring the fury of her. She had confused him as he had

never been confused. He thought he had tamed her; thought he owned her; and the discovery of this mistake

was what made him regret that she would not come away with him. Such a flight, until today, had been one

of his apprehensions: but now the thought that it was not to be, brought something like pain. At least, he felt a

vacancy; had a sense of something lacking. She would have been a bright comrade for the voyage; and he

thought of gestures of hers, turns of the head, tricks of the lovely voice; and sighed.

Of course it was best for him that he could return to his old trails alone and free; he saw that. Cora would

have been a complication and an embarrassment without predictable end, but she would have been a rare

flame for a while. He wondered what she meant to do; of course she had a plan. Should he try again, give her

another chance? No; there was one point upon which she had not mystified him: he knew she really hated

. . . The wind was against the smoke that day; and his spirits rose, as he walked in the brisk air with the rich

sky above him. After all, this venture upon his native purlieus had been fax from fruitless: he could not have

expected to do much better. He had made his coup; he knew no other who could have done it. It was a

handsome bit of work, in fact, and possible only to a talented native thoroughly sophisticated in certain

He had a glimmer of Richard Lindley beginning at the beginning again to build a modest fortune: it was the

sort of thing the Richard Lindleys were made for. Corliss was not troubled. Richard had disliked him as a

boy; did not like him now; but Corliss had not taken his money out of malice for that. The adventurer was not

At the hotel, he learned that Moliterno's cable had not yet arrived; but he went to an agency of one of the

steamship lines and reserved his passage, and to a railway ticket office and secured a compartment for

The mirror over the mantelpiece, in the front room of his suite, showed him a fine figure of a man: hale,

"Well, old top," he said, reviewing and summing up his whole campaign, "not so bad. Not so bad, all in all;

At a sound of footsteps approaching his door, he turned in casual expectancy, thinking it might be a boy to

notify him that Moliterno's cable had arrived. But there was no knock, and the door was flung wide open.

There was a shallow clothescloset in the wall near the fireplace, and Corliss ran in there; but Vilas began to

Mutilated, already a dead man, and knowing it, Corliss came out, and tried to run into the bedroom. It was no

There is a song of parting, an intentionally pathetic song, which contains the line, "All the tomorrows shall be

as today, " meaning equally gloomy. Young singers, loving this line, take care to pronounce the words with

unusual distinctness: the listener may feel that the performer has the capacity for great and consistent

suffering. It is not, of course, that youth loves unhappiness, but the appearance of it, its supposed

picturesqueness. Youth runs from what is pathetic, but hangs fondly upon pathos. It is the idea of sorrow, not

sorrow, which charms: and so the young singer dwells upon those lingering tomorrows, happy in the

conception of a permanent wretchedness incurred in the interest of sentiment. For youth believes in

It is when we are young that we say, "I shall never," and "I shall always," not knowing that we are only time's

atoms in a crucible of incredible change. An old man scarce dares say, "I have never," for he knows that if he

It was an evening during the winter holidays when Mrs. Lindley, coming to sit by the fire in her son's

smokingroom, where Richard sat glooming, narrated her legend of the Devil of Lisieux. It must have been

her legend: the people of Lisieux know nothing of it; but this Richard the Guileless took it for tradition, as

she alleged it, and had no suspicion that she had spent the afternoon inventing it.

She did not begin the recital immediately upon taking her chair, across the hearth from her son; she led up to

it. She was an ample, freshcoloured, lively woman; and like her son only in being a kind soul: he got neither

his mortal seriousness nor his dreaminess from her. She was more than content with Cora's abandonment of

him, though, as chivalrousness was not demanded of her, she would have preferred that he should have been

the jilt. She thought Richard well off in his release, even at the price of all his savings. But there was

something to hope, even in that matter, Pryor wrote from Paris encouragingly: he believed that Moliterno

might be frightened or forced into at least a partial restitution; though Richard would not count upon it, and

had "begun at the beginning" again, as a smallsalaried clerk in a bank, trudging patiently to work in the

morning and home in the evening, a longfaced, tired young man, more absent than ever, lifeless, and with

no interest in anything outside his own broodings. His mother, pleased with his misfortune in love, was of

course troubled that it should cause him to suffer. She knew she could not heal him; but she also knew that

everything is healed in time, and that sometimes it is possible for people to help time a little.

Her first remark to her son, this evening, was that to the best of her memory she had never used the word

"hellion." And, upon his saying gently, no, he thought it probable that she never had, but seeking no farther

and dropping his eyes to the burning wood, apparently under the impression that the subject was closed, she

"If I can bring myself to use the word `hellion'," she returned, "I'm going to say that of all the heavenborn,

"Egerton Villard. Egerton used to be the neatest, bestmannered, bestdressed boy in town; but he looks and

behaves like a Digger Indian since he's taken to following Hedrick around. Mrs. Villard says it's the greatest

sorrow of her life, but she's quite powerless: the boy is Hedrick's slave. The other day she sent a servant after

him, and just bringing him home nearly ruined her limousine. He was solidly covered with molasses, over his

clothes and all, from head to foot, and then he'd rolled in hay and chicken feathers to be a gnu for Hedrick to

kodak in the African Wilds of the Madisons' stable. Egerton didn't know what a gnu was, but Hedrick told

him that was the way to be one, he said. Then, when they'd got him scraped and boiled, and most of his hair

pulled out, a policemen came to arrest him for stealing the jug of molasses at a corner grocery."

Richard nodded, and smiled faintly for comment. They sat in silence for a while.

"I saw Mrs. Madison yesterday," said his mother. "She seemed very cheerful; her husband is able to talk

almost perfectly again, though he doesn't get downstairs. Laura reads to him a great deal."

"Laura was with her mother," said Mrs. Lindley. "She looked very fetching in a black cloth suit and a fur hat

old ones her sister left, I suspect, but very becoming, for all that. Laura's `going out' more than usual this

winter. She's really the belle of the holiday dances, I hear. Of course she would be", she added, thoughtfully

"Oh, Laura's quite blossomed," Mrs. Lindley answered. "I think she's had some great anxieties relieved. Of

course both she and her mother must have worried about Cora as much as they waited on her. It must be a

great burden lifted to have her comfortably settled, or, at least, disposed of. I thought they both looked better.

"I wish you would sometimes," she said wistfully, "so only you laughed. My idea is that Laura was in love

"Yes; girls fall in love with anybody. I fancy she cared very deeply for him; but I think she's a strong, sane

woman, now. She's about the steadiest, coolest person I know and I know her better, lately, than I used to.

I think she made up her mind that she'd not sit down and mope over her unhappiness, and that she'd get over

what caused it; and she took the very best remedy: she began going about, going everywhere, and she went

gayly, too! And I'm sure she's cured; I'm sure she doesn't care the snap of her fingers for Wade Trumble or

any man alive. She's having a pretty good time, I imagine: she has everything in the world except money, and

she's never cared at all about that. She's young, and she dresses well these days and she's one of the

"And from what I hear from Mrs. Villard," continued his mother, "I guess she has enough young men in love

"Four, I hear." The best of women are sometimes the readiest with impromptu statistics.

"You see, Laura has taken to smiling on the world, and the world smiles back at her. It's not a bad world

The intelligent and gentle matron laughed as though at some unexpected turn of memory and said:

"Speaking of Hedrick, did you ever hear the story of the Devil of Lisieux, Richard?"

"Lisieux is a little town in Normandy," she said. "I was there a few days with your father, one summer, long

ago. It's a country full of old stories, folklore, and traditions; and the people still believe in the Old Scratch

pretty literally. This legend was of the time when he came to Lisieux. The people knew he was coming

because a wise woman had said that he was on the way, and predicted that he would arrive at the time of the

great fair. Everybody was in great distress, because they knew that whoever looked at him would become

bewitched, but, of course, they had to go to the fair. The wise woman was able to give them a little comfort;

she said some one was coming with the devil, and that the people must not notice the devil, but keep their

eyes fastened on this other then they would be free of the fiend's influence. But, when the devil arrived at

the fair, nobody even looked to see who his companion was, for the devil was so picturesque, so vivid, all in

flaming scarlet and orange, and he capered and danced and sang so that nobody could help looking at him

and, after looking once, they couldn't look away until they were thoroughly under his spell. So they were all

bewitched, and began to scream and howl and roll on the ground, and turn on each other and brawl, and

`commit all manner of excesses.' Then the wise woman was able to exorcise the devil, and he sank into the

ground; but his companion stayed, and the people came to their senses, and looked, and they saw that it was

an angel. The angel had been there all the time that the fiend was, of course. So they have a saying now, that

She did not look at her son as she finished, and she had hurried through the latter part of her "legend" with

increasing timidity. The parallel was more severe, now that she put it to him, than she intended; it sounded

savage; and she feared she had overshot her mark. Laura, of course, was the other, the companion; she had

been actually a companion for the vivid sister, everywhere with her at the fair, and never considered: now she

emerged from her overshadowed obscurity, and people were able to see her as an individual heretofore

she had been merely the retinue of a flaming Cora. But the "legend" was not very gallant to Cora!

Mrs. Lindley knew that it hurt her son; she felt it without looking at him, and before he gave a sign. As it

was, he did not speak, but, after a few moments, rose and went quietly out of the room: then she heard the

front door open and close. She sat by his fire a long, long time and was sorry and wondered.

When Richard came home from his cold nightprowl in the snowy streets, he found a sheet of note paper

"Dearest Richard, I didn't mean that anybody you ever cared for was a d l. I only meant that often the

. . . He reproached himself, then, for the reproach his leaving her had been; he had a susceptible and annoying

conscience, this unfortunate Richard. He found it hard to get to sleep, that night; and was kept awake long

after he had planned how he would make up to his mother for having received her "legend" so freezingly.

What kept him awake, after that, was a dim, rhythmic sound coming from the house next door, where a

holiday dance was in progress music far away and slender: fiddle, 'cello, horn, bassoon, drums, all

rollicking away almost the nightlong, seeping through the walls to his restless pillow. Finally, when belated

drowsiness came, the throbbing tunes mingled with his halfdreams, and he heard the light shuffling of

multitudinous feet over the dancingfloor, and became certain that Laura's were among them. He saw her,

gliding, swinging, laughing, and happy and the picture did not please him: it seemed to him that she would

have been much better employed sitting in black to write of a hopeless love. Coquetting with four suitors was

not only inconsistent; it was unbecoming. It "suited Cora's style," but in Laura it was outrageous. When he

woke, in the morning, he was dreaming of her: dressed as Parthenia, beautiful, and throwing roses to an

acclaiming crowd through which she was borne on a shield upon the shoulders of four Antinouses. Richard

His indignation with her had not worn off when he descended to breakfast, but he made up to his mother for

having troubled her. Then, to cap his gallantry, he observed that several inches of snow must have fallen

during the night; it would be well packed upon the streets by noon; he would get a sleigh, after lunch, and

She thanked him, but halfdeclined. "I'm afraid it's too cold for me, but there are lots of nice girls in town,

"But I asked you!" It was finally left an open question for the afternoon to settle; and, upon her urging, he

went out for a walk. She stood at the window to watch him, and, when she saw that he turned northward, she

sank into a chair, instead of going to give Joe Varden his afterbreakfast instructions, and fell into a deep

Outdoors, it was a biting cold morning, windswept and gray; and with air so frostypure no one might

breathe it and stay bilious: neither in body nor bilious in spirit. It was a wind to sweep the yellow from

jaundiced cheeks and make them rosy; a wind to clear dulled eyes; it was a wind to lift foolish hearts, to lift

them so high they might touch heaven and go winging down the sky, the wildest of wildgeese.

. . . When the bell rang, Laura was kneeling before the library fire, which she had just kindled, and she had

not risen when Sarah brought Richard to the doorway. She was shabby enough, poor Cinderella! looking up,

He came toward her. She rose and stepped back a little. Ashes had blown upon her, and, oh, the old, old

thought of the woman born to be a mother! she was afraid his clothes might get dusty if he came too close.

But to Richard she looked very beautiful; and a strange thing happened: trembling, he saw that the firelight