ed, the people she called her friends, had never seemed quite so
shallow before. She stole upstairs and listened for a moment at the door
of her patient's room. All was quite soundless. Returning to the floor
below, she stepped out into the grateful coolness of the evening,
seeking that part of the piazza at the opposite end of the house from
the parlours. Pausing outside the smoking-room, she heard voices and the
tinkle of ice. She looked through the glass door; there were two men in
the room, Della Baker's husband and Faxon. The latter was stirring his
high-ball thoughtfully. His words arrested her as she was on the point
of turning back.

"If Roger keeps on at his present gait he'll make a neat little hole
even in the Wynrod pile."

Baker lighted a fresh cigar. "Yes?" His tone was noncommittal.

"Got any for himself, d'ye think--or does Judith hold the bag?" Such
imprudent garrulity was not characteristic of Faxon, but more whisky
than was good for him had dulled discretion and loosened his tongue.

"It's hard to say." Baker leaned back and blew smoke rings toward the
ceiling. He was an extraordinarily taciturn man, even for a lawyer.

"The old man had a lot of confidence in her." Faxon gave the impression
of soliloquy. "Shouldn't wonder if she kept the kid on an allowance.
He's strapped pretty tight sometimes. Queer girl, Judith."

"Think so?"

"Yes. Sometimes I don't just know how to take her."

"So?"

"Charming, fine character and all that--but difficult. Don't you think
so?"

"Um--well...."

"Roger's different."

"Is he?"

"Oh, my, yes. I don't mean when he's carrying a package--I want to dodge
then--but when he's sober, he's a nice kid. Awfully young and simple, of
course. Still...."

"Alarums without--and enter the king!" came a thick voice from the
doorway, a voice that arrested Judith a second time and held her
spellbound. She was already tingling with mortification. How dared her
friends calmly analyse her and Roger in their own house, speculate on
their private money matters, condescendingly, almost sneeringly foot up
their account of good and bad? Then, even in the dark, she felt her
cheeks grow hot. Was she herself much better than they, playing the
eavesdropper on her own guests? Somehow, oddly, the thought flashed upon
her that the quiet man upstairs would not have done so, that his code of
ethics was a cleaner one than hers and that of her friends. But when she
heard her brother's vo