sant walking in the Square last night?" he
asked dryly.

Evan couldn't quite confide in him, but he was not unwilling that
Charley should guess how matters stood. "Out-o'-sight!" he cried.

"Want to borrow some money?" said Charley carelessly. "I'm flush."

Evan stared. "How did you guess that?"

"They generally do," said Charley airily.

"I'll be paid by the old man at the end of the week."

"That's all right. Here's five, son. I can recommend the one on the
Avenue just below Fourteenth."

"The one what?" asked Evan innocently.

"Florist."

Evan blushed.

On his way down-stairs Evan tapped on her door with beating heart.
There was no answer. With a sigh he went on. Carmen, who missed
little, had heard him stop and coming out, volunteered the information
that Miss Playfair had gone out real early. Evan thanked her, and
hurried on, dreading to face the sharp-eyed spinster.

All morning he walked the streets with Simeon Deaves in a dream. In
the middle of the day he made an excuse to avoid luncheon at the
Deaves' and rushed home, stopping en route to buy a small-sized
cartwheel of violets.

He let himself in softly and managed to get on the stairs without
attracting Carmen's attention. The violets were hidden under his coat.
Corinna's door stood open now, and his heart began to beat. "Will she
recognise my step?" he thought. "I would know hers on my flight."

He stood in her doorway and the heart slowly froze in his breast. The
room was empty, dreadfully empty. She was gone. The empty mantel, the
empty floor, the empty place where the piano had stood seemed to mock
at him. He turned a little sick, and put his hand out behind him on
the door frame for support. "There is some mistake," he told himself,
but he knew in his heart there was no mistake. This was the natural
outcome of the tormenting mystery in which Corinna enveloped herself.

He looked stupidly down at the violets in his hand. In a spasm of pain
he threw them on the floor and ground them under his heel. Their
fragrance filled the room. Then the violence passed and he felt dead
inside. He looked inside the little dressing-room--not that he
expected to find her there, but it was a place to look. It was empty
of course.

When he issued out again the sight of the bruised flowers caused him a
fresh wrench. Lying there they were like a public advertisement of his
betrayed heart. He picked them up and thrust them as far as h