the concert. The name of Yvette Guilbert meant little
to Norma, but the thought that Alice Liggett really wanted to hold her
friendship was nothing less than intoxicating.

She looked out of the car, the streets were bare of snow now, there was
not a leaf showing in the park, and the ground was dark and unpromising.
But a cool, steady wind was blowing through the lingering twilight, men
were running after rolling hats, and at least the milliners' windows
were radiant with springtime bloom. Children were playing in Norma's
street, wrapped and muffled children, wild with joy to be out of doors
again, and a tiny frail little moon was floating in the opal sky just
above the grim line of roofs. Norma looked up at it, and the pure
blowing air touched her hot face, and her heart sang with the sheer joy
of living.

CHAPTER VII

Christopher had gone down to the door with his brother and the girls,
and had sent a glance up and down the quiet, handsome block, feeling in
the moving air what Norma felt, what all the city felt--the bold, wild
promise of spring. He turned back into the house with something like a
sigh; Acton and Leslie in their young happiness were somehow a little
haunting to-night.

The butler was starting upstairs with the papers; Christopher took them
from him, and went back to Alice's room with his eyes idly following the
headlines. The pretty apartment was somewhat disordered, and looked dull
and dark in the half light. Christopher walked to a window, and pushed
it open upon its railed balcony.

"Chris!" whispered his wife's voice, thick and dry in the gloom.

Aghast in the instant apprehension of something wrong, he sprang to her
couch, dropped to his knees, and put an arm about her.

"Alice! What is it, my darling?"

She struggled for speech, and he could see that her face was ashen.

"Chris--no, don't ring. Chris, _who is that girl_?"

Christopher touched the chain that flooded the couch with rosy light. He
bent in eager sympathy over his wife's relaxed form.

"Alice, what is it?" he asked, tenderly. "Don't worry, dear, don't try
to talk too fast! Just tell Chris what frightened you----"

Alice laughed wretchedly as she detached the fingers he had pressed
anxiously upon her forehead.

"No, I'm not feverish!" she assured him, holding tight to his hand. "But
I want you to tell me, Chris, I must know--and no matter what promise
you have given Mother--or given any one----"

"Now, now, no