home. I'm proud of you. I'm happy for your mother and Lorna. You must
watch Lorna--try to restrain her. She's going wrong. All the young
girls are going wrong. Oh, it's a more dreadful time _now_ than before
or during the war. The let-down has been terrible.... Good-bye,
Daren."

In other days Manton's building on Main Street had appeared a
pretentious one to Lane's untraveled eyes. It was an old three-story
red-brick-front edifice, squatted between higher and more modern
structures. When he climbed the dirty dark stairway up to the second
floor a throng of memories returned with the sensations of creaky
steps, musty smell, and dim light. When he pushed open a door on which
MANTON & CO. showed in black letters he caught his breath. Long--long
past! Was it possible that he had been penned up for three years in
this stifling place?

Manton carried on various lines of business, and for Middleville, he
was held to be something of a merchant and broker. Lane was wholly
familiar with the halls, the several lettered doors, the large
unpartitioned office at the back of the building. Here his slow
progress was intercepted by a slip of a girl who asked him what he
wanted. Before answering, Lane took stock of the girl. She might have
been all of fifteen--no older. She had curly bobbed hair, and a face
that would have been comely but for the powder and rouge. She was
chewing gum, and she ogled Lane.

"I want to see Mr. Manton," Lane said.

"What name, please."