aming from wall to wall.
At last he turned his head on the pillow and looked down at her.

The next day when he opened his eyes from a light sleep his skin was
moist and cool and he managed to move his hand toward hers as she bent
over him.

"I want--Graylock," he whispered. The girl flushed, bent nearer, gazing
at him intently.

"Graylock," he repeated.

"Not now," she murmured, "not today. Rest for a while."

"Please," he said, looking up at her trustfully--"Graylock. Now."

"When you are well--"

"I am--well. Please, dear."

For a while she continued sitting there on the side of his bed, his limp
hands in hers, her lips pressed against them. But he never took his
eyes from her, and in them she saw only the same wistful expression,
unchanging, trustful that she would do his bidding.

So at last she went into the studio and wrote a note to Graylock. It was
late. She went downstairs to the janitor's quarters where there was a
messenger call. But no messenger came probably Christmas day kept them
busy. Perhaps, too, some portion of the holiday was permitted them,
for it was long after dinner and the full tide of gaiety in town was
doubtless at its flood.

So she waited until it was plain that no messenger was coming; then
she rose from the chair and stood gazing out into the wintry darkness
through the dirty basement window. Clocks were striking eleven.

As she turned to go her eye fell upon the telephone. She hesitated. But
the memory of Drene's eyes, their wistfulness and trust decided her.

After a little waiting she got Graylock's apartment. A servant asked her
to hold the wire.

After an interval she recognized Graylock's voice at the telephone,
pleasant, courteous, serenely wishing her the happiness of the season.

"What are you doing this Christmas night?" she asked. "Surely you are
not all alone there at home?"

"I am rather too old for anything else," he said.

"But what are you doing? Reading?"

"As a matter of fact," he said, "I happened to be cleaning an automatic
revolver when you called up."

"What a gay employment for Christmas night! Is that your idea of
celebrating?"

"There happens to be nothing else for me to do tonight."

"But there is. You are requested to make a call."

"On whom?" he asked, quietly.

"On Mr. Drene."

For a full minute he remained silent, although she spoke to him twice,
thinking the connection might have been interrupted. Then his voice
came, curiously