With a most winning smile Joan kissed her. "You're a good pal,
Alice," she said, "and I'm very grateful."

Alice was compensated, although her shrewd knowledge of character
told her how easily her friend won her points. "And I hope you're
duly grateful to Martin Gray?"

"To dear old Marty? Rather! He and I are great pals."

But that was all Alice got. Her burning curiosity to know precisely
how this young couple stood must go unsatisfied for the time being.
She had only caught a few fleeting glimpses of the man who had given
Joan the key to life, and every time had wondered, from something in
his eyes, whether he found things wholly good. She was just a little
suspicious of romances. Her own had worn thin so quickly. "Good-by,
my dear," she said. "Don't forget you're dining with me to-morrow."

"Not likely."

"What are you doing to-night?"

"Going to bed at nine o'clock to sleep the clock round. I'm awfully
tired."

She stood quite still for many minutes after Alice had gone, and
shut her eyes. In a quick series of moving pictures she saw
thousands of little lights and swaying people and clashing colors,
and caught snatches of lilting music and laughter. She was tired,
and something that seemed like a hand pressed her forehead tightly,