much a personal vainglory as about his family and the greatness of this city."

"Greatness of this city'!" Mr. Vertrees echoed with dull bitterness. "Yes, I suppose it looks 'great' to the man who has the luck to make it work for him. I suppose it looks 'great' to any young man, too, starting out to make his fortune out of it. The fellows that get what they want out of it say it's 'great,' and everybody else gets the habit. But you have a different point of view if it's the city that got what it wanted out of you! Of course Sheridan says it's great.""

Mrs. Vertrees seemed unaware of this unusual outburst. "I believe," she began, timidly, "he doesn't boast of-that is, I understand he has never seemed so interested in the-the other one.'

Her husband's face was dark, but at that a heavier shadow fell upon it; he looked more haggard than before. "The other one," he repeated, averting his eyes. "You mean-you mean the third son-the one that was here this evening?"

"Yes, the-the youngest," she returned, her voice so feeble it was almost a whisper.

And then neither of them spoke for several long minutes. Nor did either look at the other during that silence.

At last Mr. Vertrees contrived to cough, but not convincingly. "Whatah-what was it Mary said about him out in the hall when she came in this afternoon? I heard you asking her something about him, but she answered in such a low voice I didn't-ah-happen to catch it."

"She-she didn't say much. All she said was this: I asked her if she had enjoyed her walk with him, and she said, 'He's the most wistful creature I've ever known.

399

"Well?"

"That was all. He is wistful-looking; and so fragile though he doesn't seem quite so much so lately. I was watching Mary from the window when she went out to-day, and he joined her, and if I hadn't known about him I'd have thought he had quite an interesting face."

"If you 'hadn't known about him'? Known what?"

"Oh, nothing, of course," she said, hur

riedly. "Nothing definite, that is. Mary said decidedly, long ago, that he's not at all insane, as we thought at first. It's only—well, of course it is odd, their attitude about him. I suppose it's some nervous trouble that makes him-perhaps a little queer at times, so that he can't apply himself to anything or perhaps does odd things. But, after all, of course, we only have an impression about it. We don't know-that is, positively. I-" She paused, then went on: "I didn't know just how to askthat is-I didn't mention it to Mary. I didn't— I—” The poor lady floundered pitifully, concluding with a mumble. 'So soon after-after the-the shock."

"I don't think I've caught more than a glimpse of him," said Mr. Vertrees. "I wouldn't know him if I saw him, but your impression of him is-" He broke off suddenly, springing to his feet in agitation. "I can't imagine her—oh no!" he gasped. And he began to pace the floor. "A half-witted epileptic!"

"No, no!" she cried. "He may be all right. We-"

"Oh, it's horrible! I can't-" He threw himself back into his chair again, sweeping his hands across his face, then letting them fall limply at his sides.

"You

Mrs. Vertrees was tremulous. mustn't give way so," she said, inspired for once almost to direct discourse. "Whatever Mary might think of doing, it wouldn't be on her own account; it would be on ours. But if we should-consider it, that wouldn't be on our own account. It isn't because we think of ourselves."

"O God, no!" he groaned. "Not for us! We can go to the poorhouse, but Mary can't be a stenographer!"

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Sighing, Mrs. Vertrees resumed her obliqueness. "Of course," she murmured, "it all seems very premature, speculating about such things, but I had a queer sort of feeling that she seemed quite interested in this-" She had almost said "in this one," but checked herself. "In this young man. It's natural, of course; she is always so strong and well, and he is―he seems to be, that is rather appealing to the-the sympathies."

"Yes!" he agreed, bitterly. "Precisely. The sympathies!"

"Perhaps," she faltered "perhaps you might feel easier if I could have a little talk with some one?"

"With whom?”

"I had thought of-not going about it too brusquely, of course, but perhaps just waiting for his name to be mentioned, if I happened to be talking with somebody that knew the family, and then I might find a chance to say that I was sorry to hear he'd been ill so much, and— Something of that kind perhaps?"

"You don't know anybody that knows the family."

"Yes. That is-well, in a way, of course, one of the family. That Mrs. Roscoe Sheridan is not a—that is, she's rather a pleasant-faced little woman, I think, and of course rather ordinary. I think she is interested about-that is, of course, she'd be anxious to be more intimate with Mary, naturally. She's always looking over here from her house; she was looking out of the window this afternoon when Mary went out, I noticed-though I don't think Mary saw her. I'm sure she wouldn't think it out of place to-to be frank about matters. She called the other day, and Mary must rather like her-she said that evening that the call had done her good. Don't you think it might be wise?" "Wise? I don't know. I feel that the whole matter is impossible."

"Yes, so do I," she returned, promptly. "It isn't really a thing we should be considering seriously, of course. Still-"

"I should say not! But possibly-" Thus they skirmished up and down the field, but before they turned the lights out and went up-stairs it was thoroughly understood between them that Mrs. Vertrees should seek the earliest opportunity to obtain definite information from Sibyl Sheridan concerning the mental and physical status of Bibbs. And if he were subject to attacks of lunacy, the unhappy pair decided to prevent the sacrifice they supposed their daughter intended to make of herself. Altogether, if there were spiteful ghosts in the old house that night, eavesdropping upon the woeful comedy, they must have died anew of laughter!

Mrs. Vertrees's opportunity occurred the very next afternoon. Darkness had

VOL. CXXX.-No. 775.-9

fallen, and the piano-movers had come. They were carrying the piano down the front steps and Mrs. Vertrees was standing in the open doorway behind them. preparing to withdraw, when she heard a sharp exclamation; and Mrs. Roscoe Sheridan, bareheaded, emerged from the shadow into the light of the doorway.

"Good gracious!" she cried. "It did give me a fright!"

"It's Mrs. Sheridan, isn't it?" Mrs. Vertrees was perplexed by this informal appearance, but she reflected that it might be providential. "Won't you come in?"

"No. Oh no, thank you!" Sibyl panted, pressing her hand to her side. 'You don't know what a fright you've given me! And it was nothing but your piano!" She laughed shrilly. "You know, since our tragedy coming so suddenly the other day, you have no idea how upset I've been-almost hysterical! And I just glanced out of the window, a minute or so ago, and saw your door wide open and black figures of men against the light, carrying something heavy, and I almost fainted. You see, it was just the way it looked when I saw them bringing my poor brother-inlaw in, next door, only such a few short days ago. And I thought I'd seen your daughter start for a drive with Bibbs Sheridan in a car about three o'clockand They aren't back yet, are they?" "No. Good heavens!"

"And the only thing I could think of was that something must have happened to them, and I just dashed over-and it was only your piano!" She broke into laughter again. "I suppose you're just sending it somewhere to be repaired, aren't you?"

"It's-it's being taken down-town,' said Mrs. Vertrees. "Won't you come in and make me a little visit? I was so sorry, the other day, that I was-ah-" She stopped inconsequently, then repeated her invitation. "Won't you come in? I'd really-"

"Thank you, but I must be running back. My husband usually gets home about this time, and I make a little point of it always to be there."

"That's very sweet.' Mrs. Vertrees descended the steps and walked toward the street with Sibyl. "It's quite balmy

for so late in November, isn't it? Almost like a May evening.

"I'm afraid Miss Vertrees will miss her piano," said Sibyl, watching the instrument disappear into the big van at the curb. "She plays wonderfully, Mrs. Kittersby tells me.

"Yes; she plays very well. One of your relatives came to hear her yesterday, after dinner, and I think she played all evening for him."

"You mean Bibbs?" asked Sibyl. "The the youngest Mr. Sheridan. Yes. He's very musical, isn't he?"

"I never heard of it. But I shouldn't think it would matter much whether he was or not, if he could get Miss Vertrees to play to him. Does your daughter expect the piano back soon?"

“I—I believe not immediately. Mr. Sheridan came last evening to hear her play because she had arranged with the -that is, it was to be removed this afternoon. He seems almost well again.' "Yes." Sibyl nodded. "His father's going to try to start him to work.”

"He seems very delicate," said Mrs. Vertrees. "I shouldn't think he would be able to stand a great deal, either physically or-" She paused and then She paused and then added, glowing with the sense of her own adroitness-"or mentally."

"Oh, mentally Bibbs is all right," said Sibyl in an odd voice.

Entirely?" Mrs. Vertrees asked, breathlessly.

"Yes, entirely."

"But has he always been?" This question came with the same anxious eagerness.

'Certainly. He had a long siege of nervous dyspepsia, but he's over it.' "And you think-"

"Bibbs is all right. You needn't wor-" Sibyl choked, and pressed her handkerchief to her mouth. "Good night, Mrs. Vertrees," she said hurriedly, as the head-lights of an automobile swung round the corner above, sending a brightening glare toward the edge of the pavement where the two ladies were standing.

"Won't you come in?" urged Mrs. Vertrees, cordially, hearing the sound of a cheerful voice out of the darkness beyond the approaching glare. "Do! There's Mary now, and she-"

But Sibyl was half-way across the street. "No, thanks," she called. "I hope she won't miss her piano!" And she ran into her own house and plunged headlong upon a leather divan in the hall, holding her handkerchief over her mouth.

The noise of her tumultuous entrance was evidently startling in the quiet house, for upon the bang of the door there followed the crash of a decanter, dropped upon the floor of the dining-room at the end of the hall; and, after a rumble of indistinct profanity, Roscoe came forth, holding a dripping napkin in his hand.

"What's your excitement?" he demanded. "What do you find to go into hysterics over? Another death in the family?"

"Oh, it's funny!" she gasped. "Those old frost-bitten people! I guess they're getting their come-upance!" Lying prone, she elevated her feet in the air, clapping her heels together repeatedly, in an ecstasy.

"Come through, come through!" said her husband, crossly. "What you been

"That Mrs. Kittersby told me all about 'em a week ago," said Sibyl. "They've been hard up for a long time, and she says as long ago as last winter she knew that girl got a pair of walkingshoes re-soled and patched, because she got it done the same place Mrs. Kittersby's cook had hers! And the night of the house-warming I kind of got suspicious myself. She didn't have one single piece of any kind of real jewelry, and you could see her dress was an old one done over. Men can't tell those things, and you all made a big fuss over her, but I thought she looked a sight, myself! Of course, Edith was crazy to have her, and-"

"Well, well?" he urged, impatiently. "Well, I'm telling you! Mrs. Kittersby says they haven't got a thing! Just absolutely nothing—and they don't know anywhere to turn! The family's all died out but them, and all the rela