to me? That beer is getting flat in your
glass; you haven't touched it. Hand me an eclair."

I held the plate out to her, the while I sought to remember something
mythological, and she helped herself. With profound disdain she treated
the few suggestions I timidly made.

"You had better go home, David," she told me at last. "We are as
cheerful as the two remaining tails of the Kilkenny cats. Good night, I
am going to darn stockings."

So I took my departure and returned to Mrs. Milliken's where I found a
message waiting for me:

"Why the devil don't you have a telephone? Come right up to the
studio.

"GORDON."

I knocked very softly at the door of the room opposite mine and was
bidden to come in. Frances was lying on her sofa, and the light was not
turned on. I saw her only vaguely and thought that she put a hand up to
her forehead with a weary motion rather foreign to her.

"I hope you will pardon me," I said. "I have just come back from dinner
and find that I must go out again. Before leaving, I wanted to make sure
that you were not very ill and to ascertain whether there is anything I
can do for you."

"No, David. Thank you ever so much," she answered. "As always you are
ever so kind. By to-morrow this will have passed away and I shall be as
well as ever. It--it is one of those things that never last very long
and I am already better. Mrs. Milliken sent me up something, and I need
nothing more. Good night, David."

She had spoken very softly and gently, in the new voice that was very
clear. The change in it was most remarkable. I had been so used to the
husky little tone that I could hardly realize that it was the same
Frances. And yet its present purity of timbre was like a normal and
natural part of her, like her heavy tresses and glorious eyes or the
brave strong soul of her.

"Well, good night, Frances," I bade her. "I do hope your poor head will
let you have some sleep to-night, and perhaps dreams of pleasant things
to come."

So I hastened down to the street and to the station of the Elevated, on
my way to Gordon's, wondering why he was thus summoning me and
inventing a score of explanations, all of which I rejected as soon as I
had formulated them.

When I pressed the button at his door, my friend opened it himself, his
features looking very set and grave. I followed him into the studio,
that was only half-lighted with a few shaded bulbs, and sat down on the
divan by the wind