f I saw you to ask you to supper some night this week."

"Thanks. Does it matter which night?"

"Any but Thursday. We're hearing 'La Boheme.'"

"Say Friday, then."

Byrne's tone lacked enthusiasm, but Stewart in his after-dinner mood
failed to notice it.

"Have you thought any more about our conversation of the other night?"

"What was that?"

Stewart poked him playfully in the ribs.

"Wake up, Byrne!" he said. "You remember well enough. Neither the Days
nor any one else is going to have the benefit of your assistance if you
go on living the way you have been. I was at Schwarz's. It is the double
drain there that tells on one--eating little and being eaten much. Those
old walls are full of vermin. Why don't you take our apartment?"

"Yours?"

"Yes, for a couple of months. I'm through with Schleich and Breidau
can't take me for two months. It's Marie's off season and we're going to
Semmering for the winter sports. We're ahead enough to take a holiday.
And if you want the flat for the same amount you are spending now, or
less, you can have it, and--a home, old man."

Byrne was irritated, the more so that he realized that the offer tempted
him. To his resentment was added a contempt of himself.

"Thanks," he said. "I think not."

"Oh, all right." Stewart was rather offended. "I can't do more than give
you a chance."

They separated shortly after and Byrne went on alone. The snow of Sunday
had turned to a fine rain which had lasted all of Monday and Tuesday.
The sidewalks were slimy; wagons slid in the ooze of the streets; and
the smoke from the little stoves in the street-cars followed them in
depressing horizontal clouds. Cabmen sat and smoked in the interior of
musty cabs. The women hod-carriers on a new building steamed like horses
as they worked.

Byrne walked along, his head thrust down into his up-turned collar;
moisture gathered on his face like dew, condensed rather than
precipitated. And as he walked there came before him a vision of the
little flat on the Hochgasse, with the lamp on the table, and the
general air of warmth and cheer, and a figure presiding over the brick
stove in the kitchen. Byrne shook himself like a great dog and turned in
at the gate of the hospital. He was thoroughly ashamed of himself.

That week was full of disappointments for Harmony. Wherever she turned
she faced a wall of indifference or, what was worse, an interest that
frightened her. Like a bird in a cage she beat