wistful playfulness which
brought a flush of sudden feeling, to the face of Reginald Warren.
Helene was carrying out his directions to the letter, Shirley observed.

They lingered at Warren's festivities until a wee sma' hour, Helene
pretending to share the conviviality, while actually maintaining a
hawk-like watch upon the two conspirators as she now felt them to be.
She was amused by the frequency with which Shine Taylor and Reginald
Warren plied their guest with cigarettes: Shirley's legerdemain in
substituting them was worthy of the vaudeville stage.

"The wine and my smoking have made me drowsy," he told her, with no
effort at concealment. "We must get home or I'll fall asleep myself."

A covert smile flitted across Warren's pale face, as Shirley
unconventionally indulged in several semi-polite yawns, nodding a bit,
as well. Helene accepted glass after glass of wine, thoughtfully poured
out by her host. And as thoughtfully, did she pour it into the flower
vases when his back was turned: she matched the other girls' acute
transports of vinous joy without an error. Shirley walked to the
window, asking if he might open it for a little fresh air. Warren nodded
smiling.

"You are well on the way to heaven in this altitude of eight stories,"
volunteered Shirley, with a sleepy laugh.

"Yes. The eighth and top floor. A burglar could make a good haul of my
collection, except that I have the window to the fire escape barred from
the inside, around the corner facing to the north. Here, I am safe from
molestation."

"A great view of the Park--what a fine library for real reading; and
I see you have a typewriter--the same make I used to thump, when I
did newspaper work--a Remwood. Let me see some of your literary work,
sometime--"

Warren waved a deprecating hand. "Very little--editors do not like it. I
do better with an adding machine down on Wall Street than a typewriter.
But let us join the others." There was a noticeable reluctance
about dwelling upon the typewriter subject. Warren hurried into the
drawing-room, as Shirley followed with a perceptible stagger.

Shine Taylor scrutinized his condition, as he asked for another
cigarette. As he yielded to an apparent craving for sleep, the others
danced and chatted, while Taylor disappeared through the hall door.
After a few minutes he returned to grimace slightly at Warren. Shirley
roused himself from his stupor.

"Bonbon, let us be going. Good-night, everybody."