greatly changed. On his cameo features
still lingered the delicate hall-mark of the over-sensitive and about
his lips played the petulant expression of one who could not cope with
the material. His eyes were still pools of brooding darkness, and as he
glanced up and met his brother's smile his expression of pleasure was
boyish and spontaneous.

"I came in for a moment to see Mary," he explained as he took his older
brother's hand. "How is she this morning?"

"Have your car follow, and drive down-town with me. I want a word with
you and I'm more than an hour late now. You can see Mary afterward."
Ham's suggestions were always couched in mandatory terms, and Paul with
a nod gave the necessary instructions to his own driver. When he was
seated his elder brother inquired with a keen glance of appraisal,
"What's the matter with you, Paul? You look tired."

"I am a bit fagged." The answer was almost plaintive. "After I went to
bed last night, or this morning, the scheme of an aria began running
through my head and I couldn't sleep. I had to get up and work it out on
the piano. Listen--it goes like this." Forgetful of time and place, the
musician began whistling the opening bars of his latest composition.

Hamilton Burton gazed at the dreamy and fatigued eyes of the other for
a moment before he broke out bluntly: "For heaven's sake, spare me! At
least save it for some more suitable time. Can't you fix it to do some
of your dreaming while you sleep? It seems to me that for a man who has
nothing to do you keep yourself unnecessarily exhausted. Why the devil
aren't you in bed now if you haven't slept during the night?"

"I had an appointment for breakfast at twelve."

"With some woman, I suppose: some woman who wants to break it to you
gently that when she hears your music a realization steals over her that
she has a soul; that, listening to you, she knows that life holds higher
and nobler things. That sort of appointment, eh?"

The younger man flushed deeply. "In point of fact, it is with a lady,"
he admitted.

Hamilton Burton frowned. The car was turning into the avenue and the
traffic officer saluted in recognition of the familiar figure, while the
financier with a smile waved one gloved hand. Then the smile disappeared
and the frown returned.

"You say you are tired, Paul, and sometimes--I might as well
confess--you make me tired. Your trouble is that you are stifled with
boudoir perfume and suffocated by over-pett