passage, hung the damning odor of the
cigarette. Harmony, leading the way in, was a sheep before her shearer.

"I'm calling on all of you," said Mrs. Boyer, sniping. "I meant to bring
Dr. Boyer's cards for every one, including Dr. Byrne."

"I'm sorry. Dr. Byrne is out."

"And Dr. Gates?"

"She--she is away."

Mrs. Boyer raised her eyebrows and ostentatiously changed the subject,
requesting a needle and thread to draw the rent together. It had been in
Harmony's mind to explain the situation, to show Jimmy to Mrs. Boyer,
to throw herself on the older woman's sympathy, to ask advice. But
the visitor's attitude made this difficult. To add to her discomfort,
through the grating in the stove door was coming a thin thread of smoke.

It was, after all, Mrs. Boyer who broached the subject again. She had
had a cup of tea, and Harmony, sitting on a stool, had mended the rent
so that it could hardly be seen. Mrs. Boyer, softened by the tea and by
the proximity of Harmony's lovely head bent over her task, grew slightly
more expansive.

"I ought to tell you something, Miss Wells," she said. "You remember my
other visit?"

"Perfectly." Harmony bent still lower.

"I did you an injustice at that time. I've been sorry ever since. I
thought that there was no Dr. Gates. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to
deny it. People do things in this wicked city that they wouldn't do at
home. I confess I misjudged Peter Byrne. You can give him my apologies,
since he won't see me."

"But he isn't here or of course he'd see you."

"Then," demanded Mrs. Boyer grimly, "if Peter Byrne is not here, who has
been smoking cigarettes in this room? There is one still burning in that
stove!"

Harmony's hand was forced. She was white as she cut the brown-silk
thread and rose to her feet.

"I think," she said, "that I'd better go back a few weeks, Mrs. Boyer,
and tell you a story, if you have time to listen."

"If it is disagreeable--"

"Not at all. It is about Peter Byrne and myself, and--some others. It
is really about Peter. Mrs. Boyer, will you come very quietly across the
hall?"

Mrs. Boyer, expecting Heaven knows what, rose with celerity. Harmony
led the way to Jimmy's door and opened it. He was still asleep, a wasted
small figure on the narrow bed. Beside him the mice frolicked in their
cage, the sentry kept guard over Peter's shameless letters from the
Tyrol, the strawberry babies wriggled in their cotton.

"We are not going to have him