some call it, curiosity--presently obtained control of
him, and he went downstairs.

There is no privacy of grief in the communism of a middle-class
boarding-house. It is ordered that your neighbor shall gaze upon your
woe and you shall stare at his anguish, when both are new and raw. That
cry of pain had been instantly followed by a stir of movement; a little
shiver ran through the house. Doors opened and shut; voices murmured;
quick feet sounded on the stairs. Now the boarders were gathered in the
parlor, very still and solemn, yet not to save their lives unaware that
for them the humdrum round was to go on just the same. And here, of
course, is no matter of a boarding-house: for queens must eat though
kings lie high in state.

To Mrs. Paynter's parlor came a girl, white-faced and shadowy-eyed, but
for those hours at least, calm and tear-less and the mistress of
herself. The boarders rose as she appeared in the door, and she saw that
after all she had no need to tell them anything. They came and took her
hand, one by one, which was the hardest to bear, and even Mr. Bylash
seemed touched with a new dignity, and even Miss Miller's pompadour
looked human and sorry. But two faces Miss Weyland did not see among the
kind-eyed boarders: the old professor, who had locked himself in his
room, and the little Doctor who was at that moment coming down the
steps.

"Supper's very late," said she. "Emma and Laura ... have been much
upset. I'll have it on the table in a minute."

She turned into the hail and saw Queed on the stairs. He halted his
descent five steps from the bottom, and she came to the banisters and
stood and looked up at him. And if any memory of their last meeting was
with them then, neither of them gave any sign of it.

"You know--?"

"No, I don't know," he replied, disturbed by her look, he did not know
why, and involuntarily lowering his voice. "I came down expressly to
find out."

"Fifi--She--"

"Is worse again?"

"She ... stopped breathing a few minutes ago."

"_Dead!_"

Sharlee winced visibly at the word, as the fresh stricken always will.

The little Doctor turned his head vaguely away. The house was so still
that the creaking of the stairs as his weight shifted from one foot to
another, sounded horribly loud; he noticed it, and regretted having
moved. The idea of Fifi's dying had of course never occurred to him.
Something put into his head the simple thought that he would never help
the lit