sire to hear the ring of the telephone. Nothing
happened. A quarter to ten came and passed. She rose to her feet.

"I am going home right now," she announced.

He reached for his hat.

"I'll come with you," he suggested, a little halfheartedly.

"You'll do nothing of the sort," she objected, "or if you do, I'll never
come inside your rooms again. Understand that. I don't want any of these
Society tricks. See me home, indeed! I'd have you know that I'm better
able to take care of myself in the streets of New York than you are. So
thank you for your dinner, and just you sit down and listen for that
telephone. It will ring right presently, and if it doesn't, go to bed and
say to yourself that whatever she decides is best. She knows which way
her happiness lies. You don't. And it's she who counts much more than
you. Leave off thinking of yourself quite so much and shake hands with
me, please, Mr. Ware."

He gripped her hand, opened the door, and watched her sail down towards
the lift, whistling to herself, her hands in her coat pockets. Then he
turned back into the room and locked himself in.

CHAPTER IX

The slow fever of inaction, fretting in Philip's veins, culminated soon
after Martha's departure in a passionate desire for a movement of some
sort. The very silence of the room maddened him, the unresponsive-looking
telephone, the fire which had burned itself out, the dropping even of the
wind, which at intervals during the evening had flung a rainstorm
against the windowpane. At midnight he could bear it no longer and
sallied out into the streets. Again that curious desire for companionship
was upon him, a strange heritage for one who throughout the earlier
stages of his life had been content with and had even sought a grim and
unending solitude. He boarded a surface car for the sake of sitting
wedged in amongst a little crowd of people, and he entered his club,
noting the number of hats and coats in the cloakroom with a queer sense
of satisfaction. He no sooner made his appearance in the main room than
he was greeted vociferously from half a dozen quarters. He accepted every
hospitality that was offered to him, drinking cheerfully with new as well
as old acquaintances. Presently Noel Bridges came up and gripped his
shoulder.

"Come and have a grill with us, Ware," he begged. "There's Seymour and
Richmond here, from the Savage Club, and a whole crowd of us. Hullo,
Freddy!" he went on, greeting the man with w