urse, saying a great deal. But
smart as she was, the negress never quite succeeded in deceiving her
young mistress. Laura never trusted her further than she could see her.
A hundred times, her patience tried to the limit, she had discharged
her.

"You'll go in the morning, Annie."

"Yassum!"

But somehow Annie always stayed.

CHAPTER XVI.

Late one morning Laura and Brockton were seated at the little table in
the parlor, having breakfast together. They had been out the night
before, at a big supper given by some friends, and had only got home in
the small hours. Laura, attired in an expensive negligee gown, sat at
one side of the table, pouring out the coffee; Brockton, in a gray
business suit, sat opposite, carelessly scanning the _Wall Street
Messenger_. Neither spoke and both looked tired and out of sorts.
Brockton was as fond of champagne suppers as anyone, but he was not
getting any younger. They did not agree with his constitution as they
used to, with the result that he was generally out of humor the next
day.

While he and his companion toyed listlessly with the silver-plated
dishes in front of them, Annie busied herself about the room, trying to
put it in order. Everything lay about just as it had been thrown the
night before. The place looked as if a cyclone had devastated a
second-hand clothing store. In the alcove a man's dress coat and vest
were thrown carelessly on the cushions; a silk hat, badly rumpled, was
near it. An opera cloak had been flung on the sofa, and on a chair was
a huge picture hat with costly feathers. A pair of women's gloves were
thrown over the cheval glass. The curtains in the bay window were
half-drawn, filling the room with a rather dim light. Laura preferred
it so. She did not wish Brockton to see the ravages which late hours
and overabundance of rich foods were making on her complexion. She
still had some feminine vanity left.

With a grunt and gesture of annoyance, Brockton threw his paper aside.
Looking around, he demanded impatiently:

"Have you seen the _Recorder_, Laura?"

His companion was engrossed in the theatrical gossip of the _Morning
Chronicle_. Without looking up, she replied indifferently:

"No."

"Where is it?" he growled.

"I don't know," she answered calmly, still intent on her own paper.

Brockton began to lose his temper, as he did easily when not feeling
just right. Not daring to vent his ill humor on his _vis a vis_, he
looked around