me----"

She rose nervously, bade Ilse adieu, and went out without turning her
head--perhaps because her brown eyes had suddenly blurred with tears.

* * * * *

Half way to Red Cross headquarters she passed the Hotel Rajah. And why
she did it she had no very clear idea, but she turned abruptly and
entered the gorgeous lobby, went to the desk, and sent up her name to
Marya Lanois.

It appeared, presently, that Miss Lanois was at home and would receive
her in her apartment.

The accolade was perfunctory: Palla's first glance informed her that
Marya had grown a trifle more svelte since they had met--more
brilliant in her distinctive coloration. There was a tawny beauty
about the girl that almost blazed from her hair and delicately
sanguine skin and lips.

They seated themselves, and Marya lighted the cigarette which Palla
had refused; and they fell into the animated, gossiping conversation
characteristic of such reunions.

"Vanya?" repeated Marya, smiling, "no, I have not seen him. That is
quite finished, you see. But I hope he is well. Do you happen to
know?"

"He seems--changed. But he is working hard, which is always best for
the unhappy. And he and his somewhat vociferous friend, Mr. Wilding,
are very busy preparing for their Philadelphia concert."

"Wilding," repeated Marya, as though swallowing something distasteful.
"He was the last straw! But tell me, Palla, what are you doing these
jolly days of the new year?"

"Nothing.... Red Cross, canteen, club--and recently I go twice a day
to the Memorial Hospital."

"Why?"

"John Estridge is ill there."

"What is the matter with him?"

"Pneumonia."

"Oh. I am so sorry for Ilse!----" Her eyes rested intently on Palla's
for a moment; then she smiled subtly, as though sharing with Palla
some occult understanding.

Palla's face whitened a little: "I want to ask you a question,
Marya.... You know our belief--concerning life in general.... Tell
me--since your separation from Vanya, do you still believe in that
creed?"

"Do I still believe in my own personal liberty to do as I choose? Of
course."

"From the moral side?"

"Moral!" mocked Marya, "--What are morals? Artificial conventions
accidentally established! Haphazard folkways of ancient peoples whose
very origin has been forgotten! What is moral in India is immoral in
England: what is right in China is wrong in America. It's purely a
matter of local folkwa