presently, silently, Anthony motioned them to
the table.

Johnson Boller came shaking pleasantly, albeit with countenance grave
enough. Mary came daintily and thoughtfully. But Anthony Fry came as one
going to his doom--because the inescapable thought had fastened in his
brain and every new, terrible second held less hope than had the one
before.

Coffee was poured then and food served and Wilkins moved out.

"Is he gone now?" Mary asked quietly.

"Yes," sighed Anthony.

"Then, without wasting any more time, wouldn't it be as well to decide
just what we are going to do?"

Anthony sighed bitterly.

"Now that you have elected to change into a very charming young woman, I
have no idea of what we're going to do, if you mean by way of getting
you out unnoticed."

Mary's head went a little higher.

"That's exactly what I mean, of course," said she. "As for my getting
into my own clothes, what else was there to do? I couldn't wear those
ridiculous things you gave me; nothing in the world could have tempted
me to go on the street in them, even if I could have worn them. I
telephoned for Felice and had her bring my things because I--I wanted to
feel sane again, I think, and if she hadn't made such a wretched
disturbance, poor child, I'd have been into them and out of here long
ago."

"And I," escaped Anthony, "should have had to explain."

"You're very precious of that good name of yours, aren't you?" Mary
asked tartly.

"I have always been," said Anthony.

And then, all unaware that Mary's pretty lips had compressed and that
her eyes were flashing opinions which caused Johnson Boller fairly to
quake with glee, Anthony's head dropped lower and he stared at his
untouched plate. The thought was there still--the awful, menacing thing,
coming nearer each instant, growing stronger and stronger.

"It must be lovely to be such a thoroughly good and proper man," Mary
said sweetly. "Couldn't you possibly forget yourself for a moment and
tell me how you plan to get me out of here? Couldn't you spend just five
minutes trying to think just what I'm going to tell my people?"

"Eh?" gasped Anthony.

"Oh, yes, I have people--a mother and a father and then some more," Mary
informed him. "Nice people, almost as proper in their notions as you
are."

Anthony merely stared at her numbly. Unconsciously, perhaps, she had
driven the last, long nail into his coffin. Her people! Momentarily, he
had forgotten that she might have p