at her framed diploma, and added, "To judge, too, of
the value of a sheepskin like that. How much did you pay for it, Doc?"
Seeming to expect no reply, he continued serenely, "Well I'll have to be
going. Stake me to a cigarette paper? I haven't talked so much or been
so strongly moved since my remittance was reduced to $100 a month. I
can't get drunk like a gentlemen on that--you couldn't yourself--and
it's an inhuman outrage. It may drive me to reform--I've thought of it.
You're such a sympathetic listener, Doc. It makes me babble." His hand
was on the door-knob. "Since you've nothing to say I suppose you mean to
stick to your story, but you must admit, Doc, I've at least been as much
of a gentleman as a rattlesnake. I'm rattling before I strike."

The door had closed upon his back when she tore it open.

"Wait a minute!" She was panting as though she had been running a
distance. He saw, too, the desperation in her eyes. "Give me--a
little--time!"

The Dago Duke's tone was one of easy friendliness.

"All you need, but don't forget the suspense is hard on Essie Tisdale."

XXVII

ESSIE TISDALE'S MOMENT.

Mrs. Sylvanus Starr, who was indisposed, sat up in her _robe de nuit_ of
pink, striped outing-flannel and looked down into the street.

"Pearline," she said hastily, "turn the dish-pan over the roast beef and
cache the oranges. Planchette, hide the cake and just lay this sweet
chocolate under the mattress--the doctor's coming."

"She cleaned us out last time all right," commented Lucille.

"Her legs are hollow," observed Camille, "she can eat half a sheep."

"What's half a sheep to a growing girl?" inquired Mrs. Starr as she
plucked at her pompadour and straightened the counterpane.

The Starrs were still tittering when Dr. Harpe walked in. Their hilarity
quickly passed at the sight of her face. Another intelligence, a new
personality from which they unconsciously shrank looked at them through
Dr. Harpe's familiar features. The Starrs were not analytical nor given
to psychology, therefore it was no subtle change which could make them
stare. It was as though a ruthless hand had torn away a mask disclosing
a woman who only resembled some one they had known. She was a trifle
more than thirty and she looked to-day a haggard forty-five.

A grayish pallor had settled upon her face, and her neck, by the simple
turning of her head, had the lines of withered old age. Her lips were
colorless, and dry, and dr