ally upbraided them for a set of gossiping ninnies. They conducted
a conversation (if it could be dignified by a name) of which no stranger
could possibly partake, and which, by a hideous coincidence, was making
his friend writhe, figuratively speaking, for Harkless sat like a fixed
shadow. He uttered scarcely a word the whole evening, though Meredith
knew that his guests would talk about him enthusiastically, the next
day, none the less. The journalist's silence was enforced by the
topics; but what expression and manner the light allowed them to see was
friendly and receptive, as though he listened to brilliant suggestions.
He had a nice courtesy, and Miss Hinsdale felt continually that she
was cleverer than usual this evening, and no one took his silence to be
churlish, though they all innocently wondered why he did not talk more;
however, it was probable that a man who had been so interestingly and
terribly shot would be rather silent for a time afterward.

That night, when Harkless had gone to bed Meredith sat late by his own
window calling himself names. He became aware of a rhomboidal patch of
yellow light on a wall of foliage without, and saw that it came from his
friend's window. After dubious consideration, he knocked softly on the
door.

"Come."

He went in. Harkless was in bed, and laughed faintly as Meredith
entered. "I--I'm fearing you'll have to let me settle your gas bill,
Tom. I'm not like I used to be, quite. I find--since--since that
business, I can't sleep without a light. I rather get the--the horrors
in the dark."

Incoherently, Meredith made a compassionate exclamation and turned to
go, and, as he left the room, his eye fell upon the mantel-piece. The
position of the photographs had been altered, and the picture of the
girl who looked straight out at you was gone. The mere rim of it was
visible behind the image of an old gentleman with a sardonic mouth.

An hour later, Tom came back, and spoke through the closed door. "Boy,
don't you think you can get to sleep now?"

"Yes, Tom. It's all right. You get to bed. Nothing troubles me."

Meredith spent the next day in great tribulation and perplexity; he felt
that something had to be done, but what to do he did not know. He still
believed that a "stirring-up" was what Harkless needed--not the species
of "stirring-up" that had taken place last night, but a diversion which
would divert. As they sat at dinner, a suggestion came to him and he
determi