leaned forward and laid
her hand on Corinne's shoulder.

"Why, you dear Corinne,--Jack and I are not like that. What has gone
wrong,--tell me," she urged.

For a brief instant Corinne made no answer. Once she tried to speak but
the words died in her throat. Then, lifting up her hands appealingly,
she faltered out:

"I only said that I--Oh, Ruth!--I am so wretched!" and sank back on the
lounge in an agony of tears.

CHAPTER XXVI

At ten o'clock that same night Jack went to the station to meet Garry.
He and Ruth had talked over the strange scene--unaccountable to both of
them--and had determined that Jack should see Garry at once.

"I must help him, Ruth, no matter at what cost. Garry has been my friend
for years; he has been taken up with his work, and so have I, and
we have drifted apart a little, but I shall never forget him for his
kindness to me when I first came to New York. I would never have known
Uncle Peter but for Garry, or Aunt Felicia, or--you, my darling."

Jack waited under the shelter of the overhanging roof until the young
architect stepped from the car and crossed the track. Garry walked with
the sluggish movement of a tired man--hardly able to drag his feet after
him.

"I thought I'd come down to meet you, Garry," Jack cried in his old
buoyant tone. "It's pretty rough on you, old fellow, working so hard."

Garry raised his head and peered into the speaker's face.

"Why, Jack!" he exclaimed in a surprised tone; the voice did not sound
like Garry's. "I didn't see you in the train. Have you been in New York
too?" He evidently understood nothing of Jack's explanation.

"No, I came down to meet you. Corinne was at Mr. MacFarlane's to-day,
and said you were not well,--and so I thought I'd walk home with you."

"Oh, thank you, old man, but I'm all right. Corinne's nervous;--you
mustn't mind her. I've been up against it for two or three weeks
now,--lot of work of all kinds, and that's kept me a good deal from
home. I don't wonder Cory's worried, but I can't help it--not yet."

They had reached an overhead light, and Jack caught a clearer view of
the man. What he saw sent a shiver through him. A great change had come
over his friend. His untidy dress,--always so neat and well kept;
his haggard eyes and shambling, unsteady walk, so different from his
springy, debonair manner, all showed that he had been and still was
under some terrible mental strain. That he had not been drinking was
evid