poke, and she felt elated. She made another
effort. "Thank you very much; it's most refreshing. No--no toast
now--but is there some more tea?"

She drank it greedily and lay back upon the pillows with a sigh. Images
were forming; memories were coming back now--scraps of things. There was
a young girl whom she loved dearly. She had brown hair, very blue eyes
and a delicious profile. She was tall and slender. She wore a blue serge
suit. Her name--was--was Dorothy. She spread her palms upon the sheet
and felt it cool and refreshing.

"I'm afraid I've had a fever," she said slowly. "I think I have it
still. I--I have such nightmares when I sleep--such nightmares." She
shuddered.

"Well," said the landlady cheerfully, "you'll feel better now. Take it
from me, tea's the thing." She gathered up the napkin, cup and saucer
and placed them on the tray. "Well, I'll let you be quiet, and I'll drop
in again about five."

Now another memory came, a conscious thought connection. She remembered
that Mrs. Bell had told her of her faithful landlady, Mrs. Mellen, with
whom she always stopped when she came North; she remembered calling
there many times for Mary, her smart motor waking the quiet,
unpretentious street. Now she remembered recalling the boarding house
and seeking shelter there in her fear and pain. Fear and pain--why, what
was it? There was something cataclysmic, overpowering, that had
happened. What could it be? Something was hanging over her head, some
dreadful punishment. Her struggle to clear the mists from her brain
rendered her more wildly feverish, then stupefied her to heavy sleep.

When she awoke again it was to see the kindly fat face of Mrs. Mellen
beaming at her from the foot of the bed.

"That's it," she nodded approvingly; "you've had a nice nap. Head's
better, I'm sure. Here's another cup of tea, and I brought you up the
evening paper; thought you might want to look it over. And if you'll
give me your trunk checks, I'll send the expressman after your baggage."

"My trunk checks--what did I do with them? Why, of course, I gave them
to my maid."

A sudden instinct that she did not wish to see her maid, or be followed
by her baggage, made her stop short in her speech.

"Oh, your maid!" said Mrs. Mellen. "I'm glad you told me--I'll have to
hold a room. You didn't say anything about her last night, so I hadn't
made any provision. Dear, dear! And when do you calculate she's liable
to get here?"

Mrs. Mart