ard the door, when she happened to notice
Laura's red eyes and tear-stained face. That would never do. Coming
back, she exclaimed:

"Look at you, Laura! You're a perfect sight!"

Throwing her gloves and muff onto a chair, she led the girl to the
washstand, and taking a towel, wiped her eyes and face.

"It'll never do to have him see you looking like this!" she said. "Now,
Laura, I want you to promise me you won't do any more crying. Come over
here and let me powder your nose----"

Incapable of further resistance, feeling herself a helpless victim in
the hands of irrevocable Fate, Laura followed docilely to the dresser,
where Elfie took the powder-puff and powdered her face. This done, she
daubed her cheeks with the rouge-paw and pencilled her lips and
eyebrows. As she worked, she rattled on:

"Now, when he comes up, you tell him he has got to blow us all off to a
swell dinner to-night--seven-thirty. Let me look at you----"

Laura put up her face like an obedient child. Elfie kissed her.

"Now you're all right," she said cheerfully. "Make it strong,
now--seven-thirty, don't forget. I'll be there. So-long."

Going to the armchair and gathering up the muff and gloves she had
thrown there, Elfie left the room.

CHAPTER XIII.

For a minute or two Laura remained motionless. Sinking inertly onto a
chair after the door closed, she sat still, engrossed in deep thought.

This, then, was the end of her good resolutions and her hopes of
regeneration! What would _he_ say? Would he care and grieve after her,
or would he treat it as a jest, an idle romance with which they had
amused themselves those happy midsummer days in Denver? Yes--it was a
dream--nothing more. Life was too hard, too brutal for such ideal
longings to be possible of realization. It was just as well that she
had come to her senses before it was too late.

Rising with a sigh, she crossed to the other side of the room, and
halting at the wardrobe, stood contemplating John's portrait which was
tacked up there. Then calmly, deliberately, she loosened the nails with
a pair of scissors and took the picture down. Proceeding to the
dresser, she picked up the small picture in the frame; then, kneeling
on the mattress, she pulled down the large picture of him that was over
the bed, and placed all three portraits under a pillow. Barely was this
done, when there was a sharp rap at the door.

"Come in," she called out.

The door opened, and Brockton ente