siness with all of them. He'd have got into trouble if he
hadn't been. And Fitz admits this one woman--she's a society
woman--is the only one there's any real basis for talk about
in connection with Brent."

Susan had several times lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips
and had every time lowered it untasted.

"And Brent's mighty decent to those he tries and has to give
up. I know of one woman he carried on his pay roll for nearly
two years----"

"Let's drop Mr. Brent," cried Susan. "Tell me about--about
the play."

"Rod must be giving you an overdose of that."

"I've not seen much of him lately. How was the rehearsal?"

"Fair--fair." And Sperry forgot Brent and talked on and on
about the play, not checking himself until the coffee was
served. He had not observed that Susan was eating nothing.
Neither had he observed that she was not listening; but there
was excuse for this oversight, as she had set her expression
at absorbed attention before withdrawing within herself to
think--and to suffer. She came to the surface again when
Sperry, complaining of the way the leading lady was doing her
part, said: "No wonder Brent drops one after another. Women
aren't worth much as workers. Their real mind's always
occupied with the search for a man to support 'em."

"Not always," cried Susan, quivering with sudden pain. "Oh,
no, Mr. Sperry--not always."

"Yes--there are exceptions," said Sperry, not noting how he had
wounded her. "But--well, I never happened to run across one."

"Can you blame them?" mocked Susan. She was ashamed that she
had been stung into crying out.

"To be honest--no," said Sperry. "I suspect I'd throw up the
sponge and sell out if I had anything a lady with cash wanted
to buy. I only _suspect_ myself. But I _know_ most men would.
No, I don't blame the ladies. Why not have a nice easy time?
Only one short life--and then--the worms."

She was struggling with the re-aroused insane terror of a fall
back to the depths whence she had once more just come--and she
felt that, if she fell again, it would mean the very end of
hope. It must have been instinct or accident, for it
certainly was not any prompting from her calm expression, that
moved him to say:

"Now, tell me _your_ troubles. I've told you mine. . . . You
surely must have some?"

Susan forced a successful smile of raillery. "None to speak
of," evaded she.

When she reached home there was a telegram--from Brent: