mirror.

"Oh, no--she and Pickering sailed yesterday for England--that's
the dreadful thing for her. Clarence evidently spent the whole
night at the club, sitting in the library, thinking. Berry Stokes
went in for his mail after the theatre, and they had a little
talk. He promised to dine there to-night. At about ten this
morning Billings, the steward there, saw old Maynard going out--
Maynard's one of the directors--and asked him if he wouldn't
please go and speak to Mr. Breckenridge. Mayn went over to him,
and Clarence said, 'Anything you say--'"

Rachael gave a gasp that was like a shriek, and put her two elbows
on the dressing-table, and her face in her hands. It was
Clarence's familiar phrase.

"Oh, don't--don't--don't--Greg!"

"Well, that was all there was to it," her husband said, watching
her anxiously. "He had the thing in his pocket. He stood up--
everybody heard it. Fellows came rushing in from everywhere. They
got him to a hospital."

"Florence is with him, of course?"

"Florence is at Palm Beach."

"Then who IS with him, Greg?"

"My dear girl, how do I know? It's none of my affair!"