that limit is reached." She motioned again, and Steve went
out into the night.

CHAPTER IX

ADMONITION

There was a light in the den as Darley Roberts, having let himself in
with his latch-key, started up the stairs toward his own rooms, and,
although he moved softly, Harry Randall himself faced the newcomer on the
landing, his hand extended.

"I was waiting for you," he announced without preface. "I felt sure you'd
be in to-night sometime." He was smiling a welcome, one unmistakably
genuine. "Delayed, were you?"

"Yes. A wreck out about seventy miles. I just got in on the relief,"
laconically. The accompanying grip, however, was not curt. "You'll read
about it in the morning. Looks comfortable in there," with a nod toward
the inviting den. "Early enough yet for a chat, is it?"

"I was hoping so. That's why I sat up."

"Thanks. I'll be with you in a minute."

Shortly, in lounging-robe and slippers this time, he came tiptoeing down
the hall past the other sleeping-rooms; a big alert shape that seemed
mountainous beside the lesser Randall idly awaiting his return.

"Very well," he introduced characteristically as he dropped into a
convenient seat, "let's hear all about it--everything. I'm listening."

Randall caught the contagion of brevity, as he always did when in the
other's presence. "What would you like to hear about first?" he returned
smilingly. "Have you any choice?"

"Yourself," with a steady look. "Everything's right, I see."

"Yes, everything's right," echoed Randall, "so much so that I'm simply
foolishly happy." He paused meaningly. "And now, since--"

Roberts gestured--merely gestured.

"Aren't you going to permit me even to thank you?" countered Randall.

"I came to hear the news," evenly. Roberts smiled suddenly at the look on
his companion's face. "I understand about that other matter," he
digressed, ambiguously but nevertheless adequately; "let it go at that.
Mrs. Randall, I presume--"

"She hung your portrait, life size, in the parlor downstairs a few days
ago," with direct malice.

Again Roberts gestured; then he looked up. They laughed together and the
tabooed subject by mutual consent passed into oblivion.

"Miss Gleason--Elice--" suggested Roberts.

"Still at her place in the university." Randall busied himself with a
strand of lint on the collar of his smoking-jacket. "Her father's gone
all to pieces, you know, and she seems a bit--tired. Otherwise she's
herself--as a