ctures with eyes that know much more about them than mine do."

"Well, we'll have to have another turn some day. We're always in search
of listeners."

"If you come and see me, Mr. Stirling," said Miss De Voe, "you shall see
my pictures. Good-bye."

"So that is your Democratic heeler?" said Lispenard, eyeing Peter's
retreating figure through the carriage window.

"Don't call him that, Lispenard," said Miss De Voe, wincing.

Lispenard laughed, and leaned back into a comfortable attitude. "Then
that's your protector of sick kittens?"

Miss De Voe made no reply. She was thinking of that dreary wintry
stretch of sand and dune.

Thus it came to pass that a week later, when a north-easter had met a
south-wester overhead and both in combination had turned New York
streets into a series of funnels, in and through which wind, sleet and
snow fought for possession, to the almost absolute dispossession of
humanity and horses, that Peter ended a long stare at his blank wall by
putting on his dress-suit, and plunging into the streets. He had, very
foolishly, decided to omit dinner, a couple of hours before, rather than
face the storm, and a north-east wind and an empty stomach are enough to
set any man staring at nothing, if that dangerous inclination is at all
habitual. Peter realized this, for the opium eater is always keenly
alive to the dangers of the drug. Usually he fought the tendency
bravely, but this night he felt too tired to fight himself, and
preferred to battle with a little thing like a New York storm. So he
struggled through the deserted streets until he had reached his
objective point in the broad Second Avenue house. Miss De Voe was at
home, but was "still at dinner."

Peter vacillated, wondering what the correct thing was under the
circumstances. The footman, remembering him of old, and servants in
those simple days being still open to impressions, suggested that he
wait. Peter gladly accepted the idea. But he did not wait, for hardly
had the footman left him than that functionary returned, to tell Peter
that Miss De Voe would see him in the dining-room.

"I asked you to come in here, because I'm sure, after venturing out such
a night, you would like an extra cup of coffee," Miss De Voe explained.
"You need not sit at the table. Morden, put a chair by the fire."

So Peter found himself sitting in front of a big wood-fire, drinking a
cup of coffee decidedly better in quality than his home-brew. Blank
wall