-crumb went down wrong. What are _you_ laughing at, Quinby
Graham?"

"Another crumb," said Quin.

Between him and Rose there had sprung up a curious intimacy. All sorts of
little wireless messages flashed between them, and Rose always seemed to
know things without being told. She had discovered long ago that he was
in love with Eleanor, and, instead of scoffing at him or teasing him, she
did him the supreme favor of listening to him. Many a night, after the
rest of the family had gone to bed, they lingered on before the fire in
the shabby sitting-room, Rose invariably curled up in the sofa corner and
Quin stretched out on the floor with his head against her knees.

After his somewhat rigorous discipline at the Bartletts' it was like
slipping out of the harness to be back at the Martels'. They held him up
to no standard, and offered no counsel of perfection. He could tell his
best stories without fear of reproof, laugh as loud as he liked, and
whistle and sing without disturbing anybody. Rose mended his clothes,
doctored him when he was sick, petted him in public as well as in
private, and even made free to pawn his uniform when the collector
threatened to turn off the gas if the bill was not paid.

One evening, coming in unexpectedly, he had surprised her kissing Harold
Phipps in the front hall. Harold's back had been to the door, and at a
signal from Rose Quin had beat a hasty retreat. She explained later that
she was letting the magnificent Harold have just enough rope to hang
himself; and Quin, glad of anything that deflected Phipps from the
pursuit of Eleanor, laughed with her over the secret flirtation and
failed to see the danger lights that hung in her eyes.

Financial affairs were evidently going worse than usual with the Martels
these days. Cass, adamant in his resolve to pay off the numerous debts
contracted by the family during his absence abroad, refused to contribute
more than the barest living expenses. Rose had given up the dancing
classes and taken a position in one of the big department-stores. Edwin
B. had had to leave high school and go to work. The adopted baby had been
regretfully sent to the Orphans' Home. The little brown house was reefing
all its sails in a vain effort to weather the coming storm.

The one member of the family who soared on wings of hope above the sordid
facts of the situation was Claude Martel. After years of search, he had
at last found the generous benefactor, the noble y