on't seem to like it?"

"I _don't_ like to hear you talk so, Cally, even in fun," replied dear
old Mats, rather stiffly. "You've been strange all evening, and you
told me you didn't care whether you ever saw Mr. Canning again or not.
It isn't a bit like you."

"It certainly isn't, as mamma frequently remarks," said Cally, her laugh
dying. "Well, I'm going to be just like myself after this, never
fear.... Gentlemen always welcome. We strive to please."

She put an arm over her friend's shoulder, and in this true-friendship
attitude they strolled through the little entry and connecting bath to
the spare-room at the back where Mattie always spent the night.

"I feel terribly sorry for poor Mr. Beirne," said Mattie, in a just
voice. "You know he had a sinking-spell, and they were saying to-night
he can't possibly get well."

"Yes, I know," said Carlisle, stifling a yawn. "By the way, I must leave
cards there to-morrow. Remind me. Climb in, dear. I'll tuck you in."

"I haven't said my prayers," said Mattie, standing by the bed. "Cally,
suppose he dies and leaves a lot of money to that cunning nephew of his!
You know--Dr. Vivian--that I introduced to you that night at his house?
They say Mr. Beirne's terribly fond of him."

Cally nodded in reply, her gaze entirely blank. It appeared that in this
world there was escape neither from the nephew nor from the topic
of him.

"But what do you suppose he'd _do_ with it," queried Mattie, who was a
dear romantic thing--"living off down there in the Dabney House?
Somebody told me he didn't care at _all_ for money, only think!"

"Perhaps he'd feel differently if he had any," said Cally. "Papa says
coming into money's a sure cure for Socialism and everything of
that sort."

"Why, don't you think he's terribly _sincere_?... Don't you think lame
people usually are, somehow?"

"My dear child, I don't see why I should think about him at all.
Besides, Mr. Beirne will leave his money to the Masons. Now for some
beauty slumber--I'm quite ready for it, too! Sleep well, Mats dear."

They kissed, and parted for sweet dreams. At the door, Cally, pausing,
said:

"Oh, Mats, go with me to Madame Smythe's to-morrow? I'm buying things
for New York."

But Mats could not reply, being already at her devotions....

In her own room, Cally prayed briefly with preoccupied thoughts, and
rising, removed her thin blue robe, switched out the lights, raised
shades and windows. In the quiet street