llowed with Dr. Goss.

"About this other matter," said Dr. Bailey; "I can't make it out, Duane.
I saw Jack Dysart two days ago. He was very nervous, but physically
sound. I can't believe it was suicide."

He unfolded the telegram which had come that morning directed to Duane.

"_Mrs. Jack Dysart's husband died this morning. Am trying to
communicate with her. Wire if you know her whereabouts._"

It was signed with old Mr. Dysart's name, but Dr. Bailey knew he could
never have written the telegram or even have comprehended it.

The men stood grouped in the snow near the sleigh, waiting; and
presently Rosalie came out on the terrace with Kathleen and Delancy
Grandcourt. Her colour was very bad and there were heavy circles under
her eyes, but she spoke with perfect self-possession, made her adieux
quietly, kissed Kathleen twice, and suffered Grandcourt to help her into
the sleigh.

Then Grandcourt got in beside her, the two doctors swung aboard in
front, bells jingled, and they whirled away over the snow.

Kathleen, with Scott and Duane on either side of her, walked back to the
house.

"Well," said Scott, his voice betraying nervous reaction, "we'll resume
life where we left off when Geraldine did. Don't tell her anything about
Dysart yet. Suppose we go and cheer her up!"

Geraldine lay on the pillows, rather pallid under the dark masses of
hair clustering around and framing her face. She unclosed her eyes when
Kathleen opened the door for a preliminary survey, and the others filed
solemnly in.

"Hello," she said faintly, and smiled at Duane.

"How goes it, Sis?" asked her brother affectionately, shouldering Duane
aside.

"A little sleepy, but all right. Why on earth did you send for Dr.
Bailey? It was horribly expensive."

"Duane did," said her brother briefly. "He was scared blue."

Her eyes rested on her lover, indulgent, dreamily humorous.

"Such expensive habits," she murmured, "when everybody is economising.
Kathleen, dear, he needs schooling. You and Mr. Tappan ought to take him
in hand and cultiwate him good and hard!"

Scott, who had been wandering around his sister's room with innate
masculine curiosity concerning the mysteries of intimate femininity,
came upon a sketch of Duane's--the colour not entirely dry yet.

"It's Sis!" he exclaimed in unfeigned approval. "Lord, but you've made
her a good-looker, Duane. Does she really appear like that to you?"

"And then some," said Duane. "