et them at the door. Grant inquired for Mrs. Bruce and her daughter.

"Oh, you haven't heard?" said the woman. "I suppose you are just back.
Well, it was a sad thing, but these have been sad times. It was when
Hubert was killed I came here first. Poor dear, she took that to heart
awful, and couldn't be left alone, and Phyllis was working in an office,
so I came here part time to help out. Then she was just beginning to
brace up again when we got the word about Grace. Grace, you know, was
lost on a hospital ship. That was too much for her."

Grant received this information with a strange catching about the heart.
There had been changes, after all.

"What became of Phyllis?" He tried to ask the question in an even voice.

"I moved into the house after Mrs. Bruce died," the woman continued, "as
my man came back discharged about that time. Phyllis tried to get on as
a nurse, but couldn't manage it. Then her office was moved to another
part of the city and she took rooms somewhere. At first she came to see
us often, but not lately. I suppose she's trying to forget."

"Trying to forget," Grant muttered to himself. "How much of life is made
up of trying to forget!"

Further questions brought no further information. The woman didn't
know the firm for which Phyllis worked; she thought it had to do with
munitions. Suddenly Grant found himself impelled by a tremendous desire
to locate this girl. He would set about it at once; possibly Jones or
Murdoch could give him information. Strangely enough, he now felt that
he would prefer to be rid of Linder's company. This was a matter for
himself alone. He took Linder to an hotel, where they arranged for
lodgings, and then started on his search.

He located Murdoch without difficulty. It was now late, and the old
clerk came down the stairs with inoffensive imprecations upon the head
of his untimely caller, but his mutterings soon gave way to a cry of
delight.

"My dear boy!" he exclaimed, embracing him. "My dear boy--excuse me,
sir, I'm a blithering old man, but oh! sir--my boy, you're home again!"
There was no doubting the depth of old Murdoch's welcome. He ran before
Grant into the living-room and switched on the lights. In a moment
he was back with his arm about the young man's shoulder; he was with
difficulty restraining caresses.

"Sit you down, Mr. Grant; here--this chair--it's easier. I must get the
women up. This is no night for sleeping. Why didn't you send us word?"