for such suffering. On
the other hand, he _had_ brought her safely back to New York, as he had
promised to do. Surely, it was not for her to cavil at the manner in
which he had done it. Something, of course, had happened, probably a
racking fight between the two men. Laurie was exhausted, and was showing
it; that was all.

With their arrival at her studio, his manner did not change. He assisted
her from the car, punctiliously escorted her to the elevator, and left
her there.

"I have some telephoning to do," he explained. "I shall not leave the
building, and I expect to be with you again in about fifteen minutes.
With your permission, I am asking my two partners to meet me in your
studio, Rodney Bangs and Jacob Epstein. What I have to tell must be told
to all three of you, and"--his voice caught in a queer fashion--"it is a
thing I don't want to tell more than once. I think I can get them right
away. They'll probably be in their rooms, dressing for dinner. May they
come here?"

"Of course."

Her panic was returning. His appearance in the lighted hall was nothing
short of terrifying, and not the least uncanny feature was his own utter
unconsciousness of or indifference to it.

"Thanks. Then I'll wait for them down here, and bring them up to your
studio when they come."

He left her with that, and Henry, the night elevator man, who went on
duty at six o'clock, indifferently swung the lever and started his car
upward.

In the studio, with her door shut against the world, Doris again
resolutely took herself and her nerves in hand. She summoned endless
explanations of Laurie's manner and appearance, explanations which,
however, turn and twist them as she would, always left something
unexplained.

There was, she realized, a strong probability that he had forced the
truth from Shaw. But even the truth would not make Laurie look and act
like that. Or would it? She tried to believe it would. Anything would be
better than the thing she feared. She set her teeth; then, springing
from the chair into which she had dropped, she turned on the studio
lights and busied herself with preparations for her visitors. She simply
dared not let her thoughts run on.

Five minutes passed--ten--fifteen--twenty. Save during the half-hour of
that return journey from Sea Cliff, she had never known such dragging,
horror-filled moments. A dozen times she fancied she heard the elevator
stop at her floor, and the sound of voices and footste