uptown for the afternoon. If Mr. Murtha comes, Mr. Ogden
will see him.".

Peter went down and took a cab, giving the driver a number in Grammercy
Park.

The footman hesitated on Peter's inquiry. "Mr. D'Alloi is in, sir, but
is having his afternoon nap, and we have orders he's not to be
disturbed."

"Take him my card. He will see me."

The footman showed Peter into the drawing-room, and disappeared. Peter
heard low voices for a moment, then the curtains of the back room were
quickly parted, and with hands extended to meet him, Helen appeared.

"This is nice of you--and so unexpected!"

Peter took the hand, but said nothing. They sat down, and Mrs. D'Alloi
continued:

"Watts is asleep, and I have given word that he is not to be disturbed.
I want to see you for a moment myself. You have plenty of time?"

"Yes."

"That's very nice. I don't want you to be formal with us. Do say that
you can stay to dinner?"

"I would, if I were not already engaged."

"Then we'll merely postpone it. It's very good of you to come to see us.
I've tried to get Watts to look you up, but he is so lazy! It's just as
well since you've found us out. Only you should have asked for both of
us."

"I came on business," said Peter.

Mrs. D'Alloi laughed. "Watts is the poorest man in the world for that,
but he'll do anything he can to help you, I know. He has the warmest
feeling for you."

Peter gathered from this that Mrs. D'Alloi did not know of the "scrape,"
whatever it was, and with a lawyer's caution, he did not attempt to
disabuse her of the impression that he had called about his own affairs.

"How you have changed!" Mrs. D'Alloi continued. "If I had not known who
it was from the card, I am not sure that I should have recognized you."

It was just what Peter had been saying to himself of Mrs. D'Alloi. Was
it her long ill-health, or was it the mere lapse of years, which had
wrought such changes in her? Except for the eyes, everything had
altered. The cheeks had lost their roundness and color; the hair had
thinned noticeably; lines of years and pain had taken away the sweet
expression that formerly had counted for so much; the pretty roundness
of the figure was gone, and what charm it now had was due to the
modiste's skill. Peter felt puzzled. Was this the woman for whom he had
so suffered? Was it this memory that had kept him, at thirty-eight,
still a bachelor? Like many another man, he found that he had been
loving an ideal--a