successful unions. Frank wondered why he had not asked Aleta Boice to be
his wife. They were good comrades, had congenial tastes. They would both
be better off; less lonely. A sudden, long-forgotten feeling stirred
within his heart. He had missed Aleta in the past few days. Why not go
to her now; lay the question before her? Perhaps love might come to
them both.

CHAPTER XCI

CONCLUSION

For years thereafter Frank was haunted by the wraiths of vain
conjecture--morbid questionings of what might have occurred if he had
caught the train for Monterey that afternoon. For he was not to seek
Aleta at Carmel. An official of the Exposition Company met Frank on the
street. They talked a shade too long. Frank missed the train by half a
minute. He shrugged his shoulders petulantly, found his father at the
club. That evening they attended a comedy.

He was not yet out of bed when the office telephoned him the next
morning. "Didn't he know Norah France rather well?" the City Editor
inquired. Frank admitted it sleepily.

Had he a picture of her?

Frank denied this. No. He didn't know where one might be obtained. Had
Norah printed a poem or something? W-h-a-a-t!

The voice at the telephone repeated its message. "Norah France was found
dead in her room at Carmel this morning. Suicide probably. Empty vial
and a letter.... The Carmel authorities haven't come through yet."

Frank began to dress hurriedly. Again the telephone rang. Wire for him.
Should they send it up? No, he would be down in a minute.

The telegram was from Aleta. It read: "Am returning noon train. See you
at my apartment six P.M."

Stanley did not see his father in the dining room. He gulped a cup of
coffee and went down to the office. He had planned an editorial for
today. But his mind was full of Norah France just now.

Poor child! How she had loved life in her strangely vivid moods! And how
she had brooded upon its injustice in her alternating tempers of
depression! He remembered now Aleta's mention of a love affair that
turned out badly. Aleta had gone down to hearten her friend from these
dolors. And he recalled, with a desperate, tearing remorse, a
casual-enough remark of Norah's: "You always cheer me up, Frank, when
you come to see me."

He recalled, as well, her comment, months before, that she would awake
from her dream in one way or another. Well, she had fulfilled her
promise. God grant, he thought passionately, that the awakening had been