than you yourself have any idea of."

"No, you are mistaken, Mr. Kennedy. I know the cause of it. It
was my love of beauty. I couldn't resist the temptation to get
rid of even a slight defect. If I had left well enough alone I
should not be here now. A friend recommended Dr. Gregory to my
husband, who took me there. My husband wishes me to remain at
home, but I tell him I feel more comfortable here in the
hospital. I shall never go to that house again--the memory of the
torture of sleepless nights in my room there when I felt my good
looks going, going"--she shuddered--"is such that I can never
forget it. He says I would be better off there, but no, I cannot
go. Still," she continued wearily, "there can be no harm in your
talking to my maid."

Kennedy noted attentively what she was saying. "I thank you, Mrs.
Close," he replied. "I am sure you will not regret your
permission. Would you be so kind as to give me a note to her?"

She rang, dictated a short note to a nurse, signed it, and
languidly dismissed us.

I don't know that I ever felt as depressed as I did after that
interview with one who had entered a living death to ambition,
for while Craig had done all the talking I had absorbed nothing
but depression. I vowed that if Gregory or anybody else was
responsible I would do my share toward bringing on him
retribution.

The Closes lived in a splendid big house in the Murray Hill