ed another picture, the picture of a shabby old man, without a
penny in the world, or a hope save in her.

She stood up.

"Dearie, dearie, I wish you joy, I do!" the fat woman sobbed, or
appeared to sob, and everything being possible, it may be that she did
not sob. La joie fait peur. She had done her part. On the morrow a
cheque would reach her. "Dearie, dearie!"

"Don't be a fool," Cassy frigidly threw at her.

"Will you take my arm?" Paliser asked.

"Don't be a fool either," she threw at him and bravely, head up, went on
to the events that waited.

In the street below a strain overtook her. Ma Tamby was amusing herself
with "Lohengrin."

XX

Paliser, alighting, turned to help Cassy. But Cassy could get out
unassisted.

The gravel crunched beneath the wheels of the retreating car. From afar
came the bark of a dog, caught up and repeated. Otherwise the air was
still, very sweet. The house too was silent. In the hall and in the
windows there were lights, but there seemed to be nobody about and that
and the quiet gave her the delicious impression that the house was
enchanted. It was a very nonsensical impression, but it was the nonsense
that made it delicious.

Paliser was saying something, though what she did not hear. The sky now
was indigo and in it hung a yellow feather. On the Hudson it had been
very pale, the ghost of a feather. But, as Harlem receded, it had ridden
higher and brightened in the ride. Cassy had watched it, wishing that
Paliser would not talk. He had sat next to her, on the same seat, yet if
the portion of it which he occupied had been in a Queensland back-block,
he could not have been farther from her heart. He took her hand and she
let him. He kissed her and she submitted to that. But she wondered
whether courtesans do not hate the men who pay them, more than they hate
themselves. Was she any better? However a priest mumbled at her, she was
selling herself. Love alone is marriage. She had none, nor had he. The
whole thing was abominable, and, as he held her hand and pressed her
lips, her young soul rebelled. Even for her father's sake, this cup was
too much.

Now though, the empty hall and the great silent house took on the
atmosphere of the Palace of the White Cat. The cup became a philtre. The
abomination changed into deliciousness. There are fairy-tales that are
real. For all she knew, Paliser might change into Prince Charming and
certainly he looked it.

He had been say