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Mostyn reached the city at five o'clock in theover the chis He lived in the house of his ed sister, Mrs John Perkins Moore, in a quiet but fashionable street, and thither he went in one of the nuro drivers,station

At his sister's house no one was stirring; even the servants were still abed He was vaguely glad of this, for he was in noa latchkey to the front door, he admitted himself and went up to his room at the top of the stairs Should he lie down and try to snatch a little sleep? he reflected, for his journey andoff his coat and vest and re his collar, necktie, and shoes, he sank on his bed and closed his eyes But to no effect His brain was throbbing; his every nerve was as taut as the strings of a violin; cold streah his veins For the thousandth tieful face of a woht rarely pretty, rarely coy, gentle, and submissive What could be done? Oh! what could be done?

He heard the iceman stop at the door, curiously noted his slow, contented tread as he trudged round to the kitchen to leave the block of ice He saw the first reddish-yellow shafts of sunlight as they shot through the slats of the -blinds, fell on his bureau, lighting up the silver toilet articles and the leaning gilt fraraph of Irene Mitchell He sat on the edge of the bed, thrust his feet into his slippers, and stared at the picture Was it possible that he had really thought seriously of ue dream, his entire association with her For months he had been her chief escort; he had called on her at least twice a week He had made no denial when his and her friends spoke of the alliance as a coirl had come into his life, and all the rest was over But why think of that when the other thing hung like a sinister pall above him?

There was a step in the corridor close to the door, then a rap

"Co it was a servant The door opened partially, and the reddish face of his sister, under a