favor--he had let proffer their simple
unaffected friendship! "He gave up his work of his own accord for that
poor old woman who can't even guess at what it cost him. _She_ was
forced out of hers when success was in sight. I don't know which is
worse. And _they_ don't make gloomy grandeur out of it."

The last song, to which Jonathan improvised an obbligato, ended the
music. Esther--for that was her name--pointed in dismay, toward the
clock and the sleeping hostess.

"Thank you," said David from his heart. He was thanking them for more
than the music.

Mrs. Radbourne stirred, yawning daintily. "Are you stopping so soon? My
dear, you sang very prettily. Jonathan, you surpassed yourself.
Particularly in the _Largo_. I remember Ole Bull, in 'sixty-seven. . . ."

When that anecdote was concluded, the guests rose to leave. Because it
was very late, Mrs. Radbourne prevailed upon Esther to stay overnight.
David would not be persuaded. So they gathered around him at the door.
And, having shaken hands, he said again:

"Thank you. And I should like to say--"

A sudden awkward lump jumped into his throat. He began anew, "I should
like to say--"

But what he would like to say would not be said. "Good night," he forced
out abruptly and hurried into the night.

Jonathan Radbourne stood before the cold fireplace, tugging with both
hands at his whiskers.

"Miss Summers," he said, "that young man grows nicer all the time."

"Yes," she said.

"I wish I could make things brighter for him."

"You are, I think."

"No more than he has earned from me. He's a very faithful worker, you
know. I must look up some of his professional work. And I have an idea
that concerns you, young lady. There's a new throat specialist I've just
heard of. You're to call on him on Monday."

David walked home. When that absurd lump had been conquered he began to
whistle determinedly, as became a young man who was no longer to make
gloomy grandeur out of his failure. He kept it up until he reached the
apartment and its chill loneliness smote him.

"Oh, Shirley," he cried, "if only you were--" And that was another
saying he did not complete, because it might have been lacking in
loyalty. . . .

A new tenant for the apartment had been found. The next Saturday David
turned the key for the last time on a scene of defeat. He was not sorry
to leave. That night he took a train for an over-Sunday visit with
Shirley. She had b