somewhat overpowering experience to discover that
destiny is especially busy over the affairs of two women for whom he
has assumed a definite responsibility. As he turned from the instrument
its bell again compelled his attention. He took up the receiver, and the
voice of a girl came to his ear. A week or two ago he had rather liked
that voice and its owner, a gay, irresponsible, good-hearted little
creature who pranced in the front row of an up-town pony ballet. Now he
listened to it with keen distaste.

"Hello, Laurie," it twittered. "Is that you? This is Billie. Listen. I
gotta plan. A bunch of us is goin' out to Gedney to supper to-night.
We're goin' to leave right after the show. Are you on?"

Laurie got rid of the fair Billie. He did it courteously but very
firmly. A rather unusual degree of firmness was necessary, for Miss
Billie was not used to having her invitations refused. She accepted the
phenomenon with acute unwillingness and very lingeringly.

Bangs was not at home, to divert his chum's mind with his robust
conversation. As he dressed for his call on Doris, the sharp contrasts
of life struck Laurie with the peculiar force with which they hit the
young and the inexperienced.

But were they really contrasts? On the one side were Louise, dying, and
Doris, seemingly eager to die. On the other were Billie and her
friends--foolish little butterflies, enjoying their brief hour in the
secret garden of life, eternally chattering about "good times," playing
they were happy, perhaps even thinking they were happy, but infinitely
more tragic figures than Louise and Doris. Yet a week ago he had thought
they amused him!

Pondering on these and other large problems, he absently removed the
bloom from three fresh white ties.

CHAPTER VII

GRIGGS GETS AN ORDER

At eight o'clock Laurie found Doris sitting under the shade of a
reading-lamp in her studio, deep in the pages of a sophisticated French
novel and radiating an almost oppressive atmosphere of well-being.

Subconsciously, he resented this. His mood was keyed to tragedy. But he
returned her half-serious, half-mocking smile with one as enigmatic,
shook hands with grave formality, and surveyed with mild interest a
modest heap of bank-notes of small denominations that lay on the table,
catching the room's high lights. Following his glance, Doris nodded
complacently.

"I left them there for you to see," she remarked.

"Did the kind gentleman under t