"Yes," Stuart answered apologetically. "I'm afraid I've not been of
much use to you to-night."

The doctor bent closer, smiling:

"I understand--of course! The angels are singing in your heart this
evening the old song of life that always makes the world new and young
and beautiful. Over all ugliness the veil of the mystery of Love! The
only real things to-night for you--the throb of triumph within your
heart, the hovering presence of a woman's face, the tenderness of her
eyes, the tangled light in her hair, the smile on her lips, the thrill
of her voice, the pride of her step, the glory of her form----"

"Yes," Stuart echoed with elation.

"And yet--it couldn't be measured in terms of barter and sale--could
it?" The doctor gripped his hand tenderly in parting.

The smile died from the younger man's face and his answer was scarcely
audible:

"No!"

CHAPTER III

A LOVERS' QUARREL

It was half past ten before Stuart reached Gramercy Park. The wind had
shifted to the southeast and a cold, drizzling rain, mixed with fog
enveloped the city. Somehow the chill found his heart. The windows of
Nan's room were dark. For the first time in his life he had called and
found her out. He rang the door-bell in a stupor of disappointment. For
just a moment the sense of disaster was so complete it was ridiculous.

A maid answered at last and ushered him into the dimly lighted parlour.

"Miss Nan is at home, Berta?" he asked eagerly.

The little Danish maid smiled knowingly:

"Na, but Meesis Primrose----"

With a groan Stuart sank to a chair. The maid turned up the lights and
left the room. He looked about with astonishment. Things had been
happening with a vengeance during his absence. The entire house had
been redecorated. An oriental rug of dazzling medallion pattern was on
the newly polished floor. Instead of the set of Chippendale mahogany
the Primroses had brought from the South, a complete outfit of stately
gilded stuff filled the room, and heavy draperies to match hung from
the tall windows and folding doors.

On the table in the corner stood a vase filled with gorgeous red roses.
The air was heavy with their perfume. It made him sick. The mother's
velvet hand he saw at once. Of course she had not borrowed the money
from Bivens. She was too shrewd for that. But she had borrowed it
beyond a doubt, and she had evidently gone the limit of her credit
without a moment's hesitation. He wondered how far she h