e-street where easily, with a soapy slide, it stopped.

Paliser got out, preceded Cassy to the steps of the walk-up and smiled
in her face. "When?"

Cassy, the revised opinion of him about her, gave him her hand. "Ask the
telephone."

The hall took her. She was scaling the stairs. On the way Mrs. Beamish
accompanied her. She wished she could tell her father. Yet, if she told
him, how could she account for what she did with the money? And would it
be a hundred? Perhaps fifty, perhaps less.

But Paliser saw to it that Mrs. Beamish behaved properly. On the morrow
Ma Tamby dumped in Cassy's astonished lap two hundred and fifty--less
ten per cent., business is business--for samples of the bel canto which
Mrs. Beamish was not to hear, and for an excellent reason, there was no
such person.

XI

Mrs. Austen looked at Lennox, who had been looking at her, but who was
then looking at the rug, in the border of which were arabesques. He did
not see them. The rug was not there. The room itself had disappeared.
The nymph, the dial, the furniture, the decorations and costly
futilities with which the room was cluttered, all these had gone. Mrs.
Austen had ceased to be. In that pleasant room, in the presence of this
agreeable woman, Lennox was absolutely alone, as, in any great crisis of
the emotions, we all are.

Of one thing he was conscious. He was suffering atrociously. Pain
blanketed him. But though the blanket had the poignancy of thin knives,
he kept telling himself that it was all unreal.

He raised his eyes. During the second in which they had been lowered, a
second that had been an eternity in hell, his expression had not
altered. He was taking it, apparently at least, unmoved.

Mrs. Austen, who was looking at him, saw it and thought: He is a
gentleman. The reflection encouraged her and she sighed and said:
"Believe me, I am sorry."

Lennox did not believe her, but he let it go. What he did believe was
that Margaret could not see him. But whether she would, if she could,
was another matter. On Saturday he had expected her at his rooms. She
had not come. In the evening he had called. She had a headache. On the
following day he had returned. She was not feeling well. Now on this
third day, Mrs. Austen, who on the two previous occasions had received
him, once more so far condescended, yet on this occasion to tell him
that he was free, that it was Margaret's wish, that the engagement was
ended.

In so telling