s time to-morrow."

* * * * *

It was a boarding house on the west side. And when the slovenly, smelly
maid said, "Go right up to her room," he knew it was--probably
respectable, but not rigidly respectable. However, working girls must
receive, and they cannot afford parlors and chaperons. Still--It was no
place for a lovely young girl, full of charm and of love of life--and
not brought up in the class where the women are trained from babyhood to
protect themselves.

He ascended two flights, knocked at the door to the rear. "Come!" called
a voice, and he entered. It was a small neat room, arranged comfortably
and with some taste. He recognized at first glance many little things
from her room in the Jersey City house--things he had provided for her.
On the chimney piece was a large photograph of her father--Norman's eyes
hastily shifted from that. The bed was folded away into a couch--for
space and for respectability. At first he did not see her. But when he
advanced a step farther, she was disclosed in the doorway of a deep
closet that contained a stationary washstand.

He had never seen her when she was not fully dressed. He was now seeing
her in a kind of wrapper--of pale blue, clean but not fresh. It was
open at the throat; its sleeves fell away from her arms. And, to cap the
climax of his agitation, her hair, her wonderful hair, was flowing
loosely about her face and shoulders.

"What's the matter with you?" she cried laughingly. Her eyes sparkled
and danced; the waves of her hair, each hair standing out as if it were
alive, sparkled and danced. It was a smile never to be forgotten. "Why
are you so embarrassed?"

He was embarrassed. He was thrilled. He was enraged--enraged because, if
she would thus receive him whom she did not like, she would certainly
thus receive any man.

"I don't mind you," she went on, mockingly. "I'd have to be careful if
it was one of the boys."

"Do you receive the--boys--here?" demanded he glumly, his voice arrogant
with the possessive rights a man feels when he cares for a woman,
whether she cares for him or not.

"Why not?" scoffed she. "Where else would I see them? I don't make
street corner dates, thank you. You're as bad as fat, foolish Mr.
Tetlow."

"I beg your pardon," said he humbly.

She straightway relented, saying: "Of course I'd not let one of the boys
come up when I was dressed like this. But I didn't mind _you_." He winced
at this