ears caught the sound of a phonograph.

A maid answered his ring. Lane asked for both Mrs. Wrapp and Helen.
They were at home, the maid informed him, and ushered Lane into a gray
and silver reception room. Lane had no card, but gave his name. As he
gazed around the room he tried to fit the delicate decorative scheme
to Mrs. Wrapp. He smiled at the idea. But he remembered that she had
always liked him in spite of the fact that she did not favor his
attention to Helen. Like many mothers of girls, she wanted a rich
marriage for her daughter. Manifestly now she had money. But had
happiness come with prosperity?

Then Mrs. Wrapp came down. Rising, he turned to see a large woman,
elaborately gowned. She had a heavy, rather good-natured face on which
was a smile of greeting.

"Daren Lane!" she exclaimed, with fervor, and to his surprise, she
kissed him. There was no doubt of her pleasure. Lane's thin armor
melted. He had not anticipated such welcome. "Oh, I'm glad to see you,
soldier boy. But you're a man now. Daren, you're white and thin.
Handsomer, though!... Sit down and talk to me a little."

Her kindness made his task easy.

"I've called to pay my respects to you--and to see Helen," he said.

"Of course. But talk to me first," she returned, with a smile. "You'll
find me better company than that crowd upstairs. Tell me about
yourself.... Oh, I know soldiers hate to talk about themselves and the
war. Never mind the war. Are you well? Did you get hurt? You look