mments of those about him than he had paid to
the whizzing bullets when he rendered first aid to a fallen comrade in No
Man's Land.

During the painful operation Madam lay with rigid jaws and clenched
fists. Small beads of perspiration gathered on her forehead and her lips
were white. Now and then she flinched violently, but only once did she
speak, and that was when Miss Enid held the smelling salts too close to
her high-bridged nose.

"Haven't I got enough to stand without that?" she sputtered, knocking the
bottle into the air and sending the contents flying over the polished
floor.

When Quin finished he looked at her with frank admiration.

"You got nerve, all right," he said; then he added gently: "Don't you
worry about getting upstairs; it won't hurt you much now."

"You stay and help," said Madam peremptorily.

"Sure," said Quin.

It was not until she was in her own bed, and word had come that Dr.
Rawlins was on his way, that she would let Quin go, and even then she
called him back.

"You! Soldier! Come here," was the faint edict from the canopied bed. She
was getting very weak from the pain, and her words came in gasps. "Do you
know where--the--Aristo Apartments are?"

"No, but I can find out," said Quin.

"I want you--to--go for my son--Mr. Randolph Bartlett. If he's not at
home--you find him. I'll make it--worth your while."

"I'll find him," Quin said, with a reassuring pat on her wrinkled hand.

As he went into the hall, Eleanor slipped out of the adjoining room and
followed him silently down the stairs. She did not speak until they were
at the front door, and even then took the precaution of stepping outside.

"I just wanted to come down and say good-by," she said.

"But you surely won't be going now?" said Quin hopefully.

"Yes, I'm to go. Grandmother has just told Aunt Isobel that everything is
to be carried out exactly as she planned it. But I wish they'd let me
stay and help. Poor granny!"

Her eyes brimmed with ready tears.

"She'll pull through all right," said Quin, to whom the tear-dimmed eyes
of youth were more unnerving than age's broken bones. "Don't worry, Miss
Eleanor, please. What time does your train go in the morning?"

"Ten-thirty."

"I'll be there at ten."

Eleanor brushed her tears away quickly. "No, no--you mustn't," she said
in quick alarm. "They don't know that we ever saw each other before. They
think you just happened to be passing and ran in to help. Oh, I d