e patchwork quilt which covered her bed, with her
hands clasped above her head, staring at the ceiling and trying to
forget the past in conjecturing the future.

The clatter of dishes ceased after a time and with the darkness came the
sound of many voices in the hall below. There was laughter and much
scurrying to and fro. Then she heard the explanatory tuning of a violin
and finally a loud and masterful voice urging the selection of partners
for a quadrille. Whoops of exuberance, shrill feminine laughter, and
jocose personalities shouted across the room followed. Then,
simultaneous with a burst of music, the scuffling of sliding soles and
stamping heels told her that the dance was on.

The jubilant shriek of the violin, the lively twang of a guitar, the
"boom! boom" of a drum marking time, the stentorian voice of the master
of ceremonies, reached her plainly as she lay staring at the stars
through the single window of her room. She liked the sounds; they were
cheerful; they helped to shut out the dying face of Alice Freoff and to
dull the pitiless voice of the coroner. She found herself keeping time
with her foot to the music below.

An hour passed with no diminution of the hilarity downstairs and having
no desire to sleep she still lay with her lamp unlighted. While she
listened her ear caught a sound which had no part in the gayety below.
It came faintly at first, then louder as a smothered sob became a sharp
intake of breath.

Dr. Harpe sat up and listened intently. The sound was close, apparently
at the head of the stairs. She was not mistaken, a woman was crying--so
she opened the door.

A crouching figure on the top step shrank farther into the shadow.

"Is that you crying?"

Another sob was the answer.

"What ails you? Come in here."

While she struck a match to light the lamp the girl obeyed mechanically.

Dr. Harpe shoved a chair toward her with her foot.

"Now what's the trouble?" she demanded half humorously. "Are you a
wall-flower or is your beau dancing with another girl?"

There was a rush of tears which the girl covered her face with her hands
to hide.

"Huh--I hit it, did I?"

While she wept softly, Dr. Harpe inspected her with deliberation. She
was tall and awkward, with long, flat feet, and a wide face with high
cheek bones that was Scandinavian in its type. Her straight hair was the
drab shade which flaxen hair becomes before it darkens, and her large
mouth had a solemn, unsmiling d