have to leave here in a few minutes," he said, softly. "They
will want to close the shop."

"I am so sorry," she faltered, "to have given you all this trouble. You
must send me to a hospital or the workhouse--anywhere."

"You are sure that there are no friends to whom I can send?" he asked.

"There is no one!"

She closed her eyes and Tavernake sat quite still on the end of
her couch, his elbow upon his knee, his head resting upon his hand.
Presently, the rush of customers having ceased, the chemist came in.

"I think, if I were you, I should take her home now," he remarked.
"She'll probably drop off to sleep very soon and wake up much stronger.
I have made up a prescription here in case of exhaustion."

Tavernake stared at the man. Take her home! His sense of humor was faint
enough but he found himself trying to imagine the faces of Mrs. Lawrence
or Mrs. Fitzgerald if he should return with her to the boardinghouse at
such an hour.

"I suppose you know where she lives?" the chemist inquired curiously.

"Of course," Tavernake assented. "You are quite right. I dare say she is
strong enough now to walk as far as the pavement."

He paid the bill for the medicines, and they lifted her from the couch.
Between them she walked slowly into the outer shop. Then she began to
drag on their arms and she looked up at the chemist a little piteously.

"May I sit down for a moment?" she begged. "I feel faint."

They placed her in one of the cane chairs facing the door. The chemist
mixed her some sal volatile.

"I am sorry," she murmured, "so sorry. In a few minutes--I shall be
better."

Outside, the throng of pedestrians had grown less, but from the great
restaurant opposite a constant stream of motor-cars and carriages was
slowly bringing away the supper guests. Tavernake stood at the door,
watching them idly. The traffic was momentarily blocked and almost
opposite to him a motor-car, the simple magnificence of which filled him
with wonder, had come to a standstill. The chauffeur and footman both
wore livery which was almost white. Inside a swinging vase of flowers
was suspended from the roof. A man and a woman leaned back in luxurious
easy-chairs. The man was dark and had the look of a foreigner. The woman
was very fair. She wore a long ermine cloak and a tiara of pearls.

Tavernake, whose interest in the passing throngs was entirely
superficial, found himself for some reason curiously attracted by this
glimpse into a