with tears.

She found a place high up on the soft-carpeted stairs, and he sat down
heavily beside her.

"Well," he began, staring at her unsteadily, "I certainly am glad to
see you, Edith."

She looked at him without answering. The effect of this on her was
immeasurable. For years she had seen men in various stages of
intoxication, from uncles all the way down to chauffeurs, and her
feelings had varied from amusement to disgust, but here for the first
time she was seized with a new feeling--an unutterable horror.

"Gordon," she said accusingly and almost crying, "you look like the
devil."

He nodded, "I've had trouble, Edith."

"Trouble?"

"All sorts of trouble. Don't you say anything to the family, but I'm
all gone to pieces. I'm a mess, Edith."

His lower lip was sagging. He seemed scarcely to see her.

"Can't you--can't you," she hesitated, "can't you tell me about it,
Gordon? You know I'm always interested in you."

She bit her lip--she had intended to say something stronger, but found
at the end that she couldn't bring it out.

Gordon shook his head dully. "I can't tell you. You're a good woman. I
can't tell a good woman the story."

"Rot," she said, defiantly. "I think it's a perfect insult to call any
one a good woman in that way. It's a slam. You've been drinking,
Gordon."

"Thanks." He inclined his head gravely. "Thanks for the information."

"Why do you drink?"

"Because I'm so damn miserable."

"Do you think drinking's going to make it any better?"

"What you doing--trying to reform me?"

"No; I'm trying to help you, Gordon. Can't you tell me about it?"

"I'm in an awful mess. Best thing you can do is to pretend not to know
me."

"Why, Gordon?"

"I'm sorry I cut in on you--its unfair to you. You're pure woman--and
all that sort of thing. Here, I'll get some one else to dance with
you."

He rose clumsily to his feet, but she reached up and pulled him down
beside her on the stairs.

"Here, Gordon. You're ridiculous. You're hurting me. You're acting
like a--like a crazy man--"

"I admit it. I'm a little crazy. Something's wrong with me, Edith.
There's something left me. It doesn't matter."

"It does, tell me."

"Just that. I was always queer--little bit different from other boys.
All right in college, but now it's all wrong. Things have been
snapping inside me for four months like little hooks on a dress, and
it's about to come off when a few more hooks go. I'm very graduall