ry kind here."

"Your father was Gilbert Ewing--a painter?"

"Oh, you _knew_ him?" He thrilled at the thought, but was disappointed.

"Mr. Bartell mentioned his name--and yours."

"He was a painter, yes; he died out there in Colorado."

She seemed to shudder ever so slightly and her eyes closed again.

"And your--your mother?" The words were hardly more than a whisper.

"My mother died when I was very small."

Again she seemed to wince under a sting. But now she fell away from that
waiting tenseness with which she had held him. The hand that had hovered
over his arm fell limply into her lap, and she leaned back in her chair.

"I'm afraid you aren't very well," he ventured. "The rooms are close."

She opened her eyes, with no sign of having heard. Sitting forward in
her chair she gazed ahead with narrowed eyes.

"I am an old woman and dull, Mr. Ewing, but I should like to have you
come and see me."

"I'll be glad to come," he answered promptly enough, though he could not
keep surprise from his voice.

"Come to-morrow, if you will, and pardon an old woman's whim in asking
you with so little ceremony."

"I will come, of course." He wondered if she felt a city loneliness like
his own.

"Thank you. I shall be in after four." She gave him a card from a small
silver case at her belt. "The room _is_ close. You may fetch me tea."

He was certain her eyes were sharply on him as he went, and when he
returned, her full gaze swept him with a look in which he curiously read
incredulity, with something beside that might have been fear or
repulsion--he could not determine. She took the tea, but set it down
untasted. A very queer old lady he thought her. He stood by in
embarrassment, not knowing what to say. Glancing about for inspiration
he was relieved to see Bartell bearing down upon him from the side of
Mrs. Laithe. He came up jovially.

"I've been ordered to separate you two, Kitty. Young men aren't
plentiful at this time, and Eleanor wants one."

"Thank you for bringing him, Chris." She gave Ewing a little nod, which
he construed as his release, and he turned to meet Mrs. Laithe.

She sought his eyes with that swift look of apprehension which had
before puzzled him, and threw another glance toward Mrs. Lowndes, who
now chatted smilingly with Bartell. She seemed to be reassured.

"I do hope you've not been bored. No? I was afraid. Come and meet my
sister," and she momentarily swept away his memories of the qu