ideous habit of mumbling
his tongue and smacking his lips? What if, moneyless, she should not
be able to find another Stanley or a man of the class gentleman willing
to help her generously even on ANY terms? What then?

She was looking out over the sea, her bank-book and statements and
canceled checks in her lap. Their cottage was at the very edge of the
strand; its veranda was often damp from spray after a storm. It was
not storming as she sat there, "taking stock"; under a blue sky an
almost tranquil sea was crooning softly in the sunlight, innocent and
happy and playful as a child. She, dressed in a charming negligee and
looking forward to a merry day in the auto, with lunch and dinner at
attractive, luxurious places farther down the coast--she was stricken
with a horrible sadness, with a terror that made her heart beat wildly.

"I must be crazy!" she said, half aloud. "I've never earned a dollar
with my voice. And for two months it has been unreliable. I'm acting
like a crazy person. What WILL become of me?"

Just then Stanley Baird came through the pretty little house, seeking
her. "There you are!" he cried. "Do go get dressed."

Hastily she flung a scarf over the book and papers in her lap. She had
intended to speak to him about that fresh deposit of five thousand
dollars--to refuse it, to rebuke him. Now she did not dare.

"What's the matter?" he went on. "Headache?"

"It was the wine at dinner last night," explained she. "I ought never
to touch red wine. It disagrees with me horribly."

"That was filthy stuff," said he. "You must take some champagne at
lunch. That'll set you right."

She stealthily wound the scarf about the papers. When she felt that all
were secure she rose. She was looking sweet and sad and peculiarly
beautiful. There was an exquisite sheen on her skin. She had washed
her hair that morning, and it was straying fascinatingly about her brow
and ears and neck. Baird looked at her, lowered his eyes and colored.

"I'll not be long," she said hurriedly.

She had to pass him in the rather narrow doorway. From her garments
shook a delicious perfume. He caught her in his arms. The blood had
flushed into his face in a torrent, swelling out the veins, giving him
a distorted and wild expression.

"Mildred!" he cried. "Say that you love me a little! I'm so lonely
for you--so hungry for you!"

She grew cold with fear and with repulsion. She neither yielded to his
embra