rs. Whitney, and
her soothing tones seemed to stimulate him by irritation. "Then we'll all
go down to Saint X together, if you still wish it."

"Don't take that tone with me, I tell you!" he said with some energy in
his drawl. "_Don't_ talk to me as if you were hanging over my deathbed
lying to me about my going to live!" And he closed his eyes, and his
breath made his parted, languid lips flutter.

"Mr. Vagen," said Matilda, in her tone of sweet graciousness, "may I
trouble you to go and--"

"Go to the devil, Vagen," said Charles, starting up again that slow
stream of fainting words and sentences. "Anywhere to get you out of the
room so you won't fill the flapping ears of your friends with gossip
about Whitney and his wife. Though why she should send you out I can't
understand. If you and the servants don't hear what's going on, you make
up and tattle worse than what really happens."

Mrs. Whitney gave Vagen a look of sweet resignation and Vagen responded
with an expression which said: "I understand. He is very ill. He is not
responsible. I admire your ladylike patience." As Whitney's eyes were
closed he missed this byplay.

"Here, Vagen--before you go," he drawled, waving a weary hand toward the
table at his elbow. "Here's a check for ten thousand. You don't deserve
it, for you've used your position to try to get rich on the sly. But
inasmuch as I was 'on to' you, and dropped hints that made you lose, I've
no hard feelings. Then, too, you did no worse than any other would have
done in your place. A man's as good, and as bad, as he has the chance to
be. So take it. I've not made my will yet, and as I may not be able to, I
give you the money now. You'll find the check in this top drawer, and
some other checks for the people near me. I suppose they'll expect
something--I've got 'em into the habit of it. Take 'em and run along and
send 'em off right away."

Vagen muttered inarticulate thanks. In fact, the check was making small
impression on him, or the revelation that his chief had eyes as keen for
what was going on under his nose as for the great movements in the big
field. He could think only of that terrifying weakness, that significant
garrulousness.

When Vagen was out of the way, Charles repeated: "I'm going this
afternoon." His listless eyes were gazing vacantly at the carved rosewood
ceiling. His hands--the hands of a corpse--looked horribly like sheathed,
crumpled claws in the gold silk cuffs of his dark