"I don't think Duane suspects anything," said Kathleen, striving to
steady her voice. "You came in here as soon as you felt--ill; didn't
you?"

"I--yes----"

She could say no more. How she came to be on her bed in her own room she
could not remember. It seemed to her as though she had fallen asleep on
the lounge. Somehow, after Duane had gone, she must have waked and gone
to her own room. But she could not recollect doing it.

Now she realised that she was tired, wretched, feverish. She suffered
Kathleen to undress her, comb her hair, bathe her, and dry the white,
slender body and limbs in which the veins still burned and throbbed.

When at length she lay between the cool sheets, silent, limp,
heavy-lidded, Kathleen turned out the electric brackets and lighted the
candle.

"Dear," she said, trying to speak cheerfully, "do you know what your
brother has done?"

"What?" asked Geraldine drowsily.

"He has bought Roya-Neh, if you please, and he invites you to draw a
check for half of it and to move there next week. As for me, I was
furious with him. What do you think?"

Her voice softened to a whisper; she bent over the girl, looking closely