the room. Laura put down her
newspaper.

"I must say you're rather amiable this morning," she said pointedly.

Brockton turned his head away.

"I feel like h--ll," he growled.

"Market unsatisfactory?" she inquired.

"No, head too big." Lighting a cigar, he took a puff and then made a
wry face. Putting the offending weed into the empty cup, he said, with
another grimace: "Tastes like punk."

"You drank a lot," she said unconcernedly.

He nodded.

"Yes--we'll have to cut out these parties. I can't do those things any
more. I'm not as young as I was, and in the morning it makes me sick."
Looking up at her, he added. "How do you feel?"

She rose from the breakfast table and sat down at a small _escritoire_.

"A little tired, that's all," she said languidly.

"You didn't touch anything, did you?"

"No."

"That's right--you've been taking too much lately. It was a great old
party, though, wasn't it?"

Laura yawned and gazed listlessly out of the window.

"Do you think so?"

Not noticing her expression of wearied disgust, he went on:

"Yes, for that sort of a blow-out. Not too rough, but just a little
easy. I like them at night, but I hate them in the morning. Were you
bored?"

Picking up his newspaper, he started to glance over it carelessly.
Still staring idly into the street, she answered laconically:

"I'm always bored by such things as that."

"You don't have to go."

"You asked me."

"Still, you could say no."

Rising, she stooped and picked up a newspaper which had fallen on the
floor. Placing it on the breakfast table, she returned to her seat at
the desk.

"But you asked me," she insisted.

"What did you go for if you didn't want to?"

"_You_ wanted me to."

"I don't quite get you," he said impatiently.

"Well, it's just this, Will--you have all my time when I'm not in the
theatre, and you can do with it just what you please. You pay for it.
I'm working for you."

He looked up at her quickly. Something in the tone of her voice warned
him that there was a scene coming, and he hated scenes. But he could
not resist inquiring sarcastically:

"Is that all I've got--just your time?"

"That and--the rest," she replied bitterly.

Looking at her curiously, he said:

"Down in the mouth, eh? I'm sorry."

"No," she retorted, her mouth quivering at the corners; "only, if you
want me to be frank, I'm a little tired. You may not believe it, but I
work awfully hard over at the theatre