.

"Oh, yes, I've heard about you," came to our ears a moment later, in a
high, clear voice--a dear, beloved voice that sent me flying to the door
in an agony of hope.

"Norah!" I cried, "Norah! Norah! Norah!" And as her blessed arms closed
about me the tears that had been denied me before came in a torrent of
joy.

"There, there!" murmured she, patting my shoulder with those comforting
mother-pats. "What's all this about? And why didn't somebody meet me? I
telegraphed. You didn't get it? Well, I forgive you. Howdy-do, Peter?
I suppose you are Peter. I hope you haven't been acting devilish again.
That seems to be your specialty. Now don't smile that Mephistophelian
smile at me. It doesn't frighten me. Von Gerhard, take him down to his
hotel. I'm dying for my kimono and bed. And this child is trembling
like a race-horse. Now run along, all of you. Things that look
greenery-yallery at night always turn pink in the morning. Great
Heavens! There's somebody calling down from the second-floor landing.
It sounds like a landlady. Run, Dawn, and tell her your perfectly
respectable sister has come. Peter! Von Gerhard! Mr. Blackie! Shoo!"

CHAPTER XIX. A TURN OF THE WHEEL

"You who were ever alert to befriend a man You who were ever the first
to defend a man, You who had always the money to lend a man Down on his
luck and hard up for a V, Sure you'll be playing a harp in beatitude
(And a quare sight you will be in that attitude) Some day, where
gratitude seems but a platitude, You'll find your latitude."

From my desk I could see Peter standing in the doorway of the news
editor's room. I shut my eyes for a moment. Then I opened them again,
quickly. No, it was not a dream. He was there, a slender, graceful,
hateful figure, with the inevitable cigarette in his unsteady
fingers--the expensive-looking, gold-tipped cigarette of the old days.
Peter was Peter. Ten years had made little difference. There were queer
little hollow places in his cheeks, and under the jaw-bone, and at the
base of the head, and a flabby, parchment-like appearance about the
skin. That was all that made him different from the Peter of the old
days.

The thing had adjusted itself, as Norah had said it would. The situation
that had filled me with loathing and terror the night of Peter's return
had been transformed into quite a matter-of-fact and commonplace affair
under Norah's deft management. And now I was back in harness again, and
Peter was tu