good-night!"

The hot tears ran down his cheeks, as he touched the keys softly and
lingeringly. He could go no further than the refrain; he leant his
elbows on the keyboard, and dropped his head upon his arms. The clashing
notes jarred like a hoarse cry, then vibrated slowly away into a silence
that was broken only by his sobs. He rose late the next day, after a
sleep that was one prolonged nightmare, full of agonised, abortive
striving after something that always eluded him, he knew not what. And
when he woke--after a momentary breath of relief at the thought of the
unreality of these vague horrors--he woke to the heavier nightmare of
reality. Oh, those terrible dollars!

He drew the blind, and saw with a dull acquiescence that the brightness
of the May had fled. The wind was high--he heard it fly past, moaning.
In the watery sky, the round sun loomed silver-pale and blurred. To his
fevered eye it looked like a worn dollar.

He turned away shivering, and began to dress. He opened the door a
little, and pulled in his lace-up boots, which were polished in the
highest style of art. But when he tried to put one on, his toes stuck
fast in the opening and refused to advance. Annoyed, he put his hand in,
and drew out a pair of tan gloves, perfectly new. Astonished, he
inserted his hand again and drew out another pair, then another.
Reddening uncomfortably, for he divined something of the meaning, he
examined the left boot, and drew out three more pairs of gloves, two new
and one slightly soiled.

He sank down, half dressed, on the bed with his head on his breast,
leaving his boots and Mary Ann's gloves scattered about the floor. He
was angry, humiliated; he felt like laughing, and he felt like sobbing.

At last he roused himself, finished dressing, and rang for breakfast.
Rosie brought it up.

"Hullo! Where's Mary Ann?" he said lightly.

"She's above work now," said Rosie, with an unamiable laugh. "You know
about her fortune."

"Yes; but your mother told me she insisted on going about her work till
Monday."

"So she said yesterday--silly little thing! But to-day she says she'll
only help mother in the kitchen--and do all the boots of a morning. She
won't do any more waiting."

"Ah!" said Lancelot, crumbling his toast.

"I don't believe she knows what she wants," concluded Rosie, turning to
go.

"Then I suppose she's in the kitchen now?" he said, pouring out his
coffee down the side of his cup