e he begs of you to come. Very truly,

ETHEL B. WATSON, Nurse in Waiting.

"The idea! Of course I won't! I wouldn't think of such a thing!"
Hazel exclaimed.

"Just a second," she said to the footman.

Over on the parlor mantel lay some sheets of paper and envelopes. She
borrowed a pencil from Barrow and scribbled a brief refusal. The
footman departed with her answer. Hazel turned to find Jack staring
his puzzlement.

"What did he want?" Barrow asked bluntly. "That was the Bush turnout,
wasn't it?"

"You heard about Mr. Bush getting hurt, didn't you?" she inquired.

"Saw it in the paper. Why?"

"Nothing, except that he is supposed to be dying--and he wanted to see
me. At least--well, read the note," Hazel answered.

Barrow glanced over the missive and frowned.

"What do you suppose he wanted to see you for?" he asked.

"How should I know?" Hazel evaded.

She felt a reluctance to enter into any explanations. That would
necessitate telling the whole story, and she felt some delicacy about
relating it when the man involved lay near to death. Furthermore, Jack
might misunderstand, might blame her. He was inclined to jealousy on
slight grounds, she had discovered before now. Perhaps that, the
natural desire to avoid anything disagreeable coming up between them,
helped constrain her to silence.

"Seems funny," he remarked slowly.

"Oh, let's forget it." Hazel came and sat down on the couch by him.
"I don't know of any reason why he should want to see me. I wouldn't
go merely out of curiosity to find out. It was certainly a peculiar
request for him to make. But that's no reason why we should let it
bother us. If he's really so badly hurt, the chances are he's out of
his head. Don't scowl at that bit of paper so, Johnnie-boy."

Barrow laughed and kissed her, and the subject was dropped forthwith.
Later they went out for a short walk. In an hour or so Barrow left for
home, promising to have the concert tickets for Thursday night.

Hazel took the note out of her belt and read it again when she reached
her room. Why should he want to see her? She wondered at the man's
persistence. He had insulted her, according to her view of it--doubly
insulted her with threats and an enforced caress. Perhaps he merely
wanted to beg her pardon; she had heard of men doing such things in
their last moments. But she could not conceive of Mr. Andrew Bush
being sorry for anything he did. Her estimate of h