"Why in God's name did _you_ go there all alone among those Reds!"

She shook her head wearily:

"I had to.... What a horrible thing to happen!... I am so tired, Jim.
Could you get me home?"

He found a taxi nearer Broadway and directed the driver to stop at a
drug-store. Here he insisted that the tiny cut on Palla's temple be
properly attended to. But it proved a simple matter; there was no
glass in it, and the bleeding ceased before they reached her house.

At the door he took leave of her, deeming it no time to subject her to
any further shock that night; but she retained her hold on his arm.

"I want you to come in, Jim."

"You said you were tired; and you've had a terrible shock----"

"That is why I need you," she said in a low voice. Then, looking up at
him with a pale smile: "I want you--just once more."

They went in together. Her maid, hearing the opening door, appeared
and took her away; and Jim turned into the living-room. A lighted lamp
on the piano illuminated his own framed photograph--that was the first
thing he noticed--the portrait of himself in uniform, flanked on
either side by little vases full of blue forget-me-nots.

He started to lift one to his face, but reaction had set in and his
hands were shaking. And he turned away and stood staring into the
empty fireplace, passionately possessed once more by the eternal
witchery of this young girl, and under the spell again of the
enchanted place wherein she dwelt.

The very air breathed her magic; every familiar object seemed to be
stealthily conspiring in the subdued light to reaccomplish his
subjection.

Her maid appeared to say that Miss Dumont would be ready in a few
minutes. She came, presently, in a clinging chamber-gown--a pale
golden affair with misty touches of lace.

He arranged cushions for her: she lighted a cigarette for him; and he
sank down beside her in the old place.

Both were still a little shaken. He said that he believed the
explosion had come from the outside, and that the principal damage had
been done next door, in Mr. Puma's office.

She nodded assent, listlessly, evidently preoccupied with something
else.

After a few moments she looked up at him.

"This is the second day of February," she said. "Within the last month
Jack Estridge died, and Vanya died.... To-day another man died--a man
I have known from childhood.... His name was Pawling. And his death
has ruined me."

"When--when did you learn that?" he