ver to have held a fire.

Miss Drainger came in the back entrance as I entered the kitchen. Her
face was paler than I had ever seen it. She confronted me silently.

"If you are through," she said bitingly, "I will let you out the front
door."

I observed mildly that her mother wanted her and accompanied her into
the sitting room. I hesitated how best to broach the matter I had in
mind without giving offense and resolved, unfortunately, on a deliberate
lie.

"My fee has been paid," I said, awkwardly enough.

She searched my face. I affected to be busy with my hat.

"I see," she commented with a short, cynical laugh. "Sometimes it is
done that way, sometimes in ways less pleasant. We are quite used to it.
I suppose I had better thank you."

I felt my face flush scarlet.

"It is not necessary," I faltered and was grateful to get out of the
house without further blunders.

I filled my lungs with the sweet August morning in positive relief,
feeling that I had been in the land of the dead.

IV

I had no further contact with the Draingers for some days. Indeed, the
whole curious episode was beginning to fade in my mind when, some three
weeks later, a dinner that Helen was giving recalled my experience and
added fresh interest to my relations with them. I sat next to one of
those conventionally pretty women who require only the surface of one's
attention, and I was preparing to be bored for the rest of the evening
when I caught a chance remark of Isobel Allyn's.

Mrs. Allyn (everybody calls her Isobel) was talking across the table to
Dr. Fawcett.

"You've lost your mysterious veiled lady," she said.

"Yes," said Fawcett.

Fawcett is a good fellow, about forty-five, and inclined to be
reticent.

"Veiled lady?" shrilled some feminine nonentity, much to Fawcett's
distaste. "How thrilling! Do tell us about it!"

"There is nothing to tell," growled Fawcett.

Isobel, however, is not easily swept aside.

"Oh, yes, there is," she persisted. "Dr. Fawcett has for years had a
mysterious patient whose face, whenever he visits her, remains
obstinately invisible. Now, without revealing her features, the lady has
had the bad taste to die."

I leaned forward.

"Is it Mrs. Drainger, Fawcett?"

He turned to me with mingled relief and inquiry.

"Yes. How did you know?"

I promised myself something later and remained vague.

"I had heard of her," I said.

His eyes questioned mine.

"Everyone must have heard