Valois smiled warmly; men usually did for Miss Donovan. "I remember,"
he said dolorously.

The girl sensed some underlying sorrow in his voice and with
professional skill learned the cause within a minute. Then, because
she believed that there might be more to be told, and because she was
big-hearted and interested in every one's troubles, she urged him to
accompany her to a near-by restaurant and pour out his heart while she
supped. Lonely and disheartened, Valois accepted gladly and within
half an hour they were seated at a tiny table in an Italian café.

"About your discharge?" she queried after a time.

"I was not even asked to accompany Mr. Frederick's body," he burst out,
"even though I had been with him a year. So I stayed in the apartment
to straighten things, expecting to be retained in John Cavendish's
service. I even did the work in his apartments, but when he returned
and saw me there he seemed to lose his temper, wanted to know why I was
hanging around, and ordered me out of the place."

"The ingrate!" exclaimed the girl, laying a warm, consoling hand on the
other's arm. "You're sure he wasn't drinking?"

"I don't think so, miss. Just the sight of me seemed to drive him mad.
Flung money at me, he did, told me to get out, that he never wanted to
see me again. Since then I have tried for three weeks to find work,
but it has been useless."

While she gave him a word of sympathy, Miss Donovan was busily
thinking. She remembered Willis's remark in the apartments, "Are you