ce and his shabby clothes, rather looked the
part of the dependant. Sharlee's greeting was of the briefest.

"Ah, Mr. Queed.... Sit down."

Her negligent nod set him away at an immense distance; even he was aware
that Charles Weyland had undergone some subtle but marked change since
the morning. The colored maid who had shown him in was retained to
button her mistress' long gloves. It proved to be a somewhat slow
process. Over the mantel hung a gilt-framed mirror, as wide as the
mantel itself. To this mirror, the gloves buttoned, Miss Weyland passed,
and reviewed her appearance with slow attention, giving a pat here,
making a minor readjustment there. But this survey did not suffice for
details, it seemed; a more minute examination was needed; over the floor
she trailed with leisurely grace, and rang the bell.

"Oh, Mary--my vanity-box, please. On the dressing-table."

Seating herself under the lamp, she produced from the contrivance the
tiniest little mirror ever seen. As she raised it to let it perform its
dainty function, her glance fell on Queed, sitting darkly in his
rocking-chair. A look of mild surprise came into her eye: not that it
was of any consequence, but plainly she had forgotten that he was there.

"Oh ... You don't mind waiting a few minutes?"

"I do m--"

"You promised half an hour I think? Never fear that I shall take
longer--"

"I did not promise half an hour for such--"

"It was left to me to decide in what way the time should be employed, I
believe. What I have to say can be said briefly, but to you, at least,
it should prove immensely interesting." She stifled a small yawn with
the gloved finger-tips of her left hand. "However, of course don't let
me keep you if you are pressed for time."

The young man made no reply. Sharlee completed at her leisure her
conference with the vanity-box; snapped the trinket shut; and, rising,
rang the bell again. This time she required a glass of water for her
good comfort. She drank it slowly, watching herself in the mantel mirror
as she did so, and setting down the glass, took a new survey of her
whole effect, this time in a long-distance view.

"Now, Mr. Queed!"

She sat down in a flowered arm-chair so large that it engulfed her, and
fixed him with a studious, puckering gaze as much as to say: "Let's see.
Now, what was his trouble?"

"Ah, yes!--the _Post_."

She glanced at the little clock on the mantel, appeared to gather in her
thoughts from re