stepped out into the falling snow. At the same moment a chauffeur
buried in coon-skins moved forward touching his cap:

"Miss Erith's car is here, sir; Miss Erith expects you."

McKay hesitated, scowling now in his perplexity; passed his
quivering hand slowly across his face, then turned, and looked at
the waiting car drawn up at the gutter. Behind the frosty window
Miss Erith gave him a friendly smile. He walked over to the curb,
the chauffeur opened the door, and McKay took off his hat.

"Don't ask me," he said in a low voice that trembled slightly like a
sick man's.

"I DO ask you."

"You know what's the matter with me, Miss Erith," he insisted in the
same low, unsteady voice.

"Please," she said: and laid one small gloved hand lightly on his
arm.

So he entered the car; the chauffeur drew the robe over them, and
stood awaiting orders.

"Home," said Miss Erith faintly.

If McKay was astonished he did not betray it. Neither said anything
more for a while. The man rested an elbow on the sill, his troubled,
haggard face on his hand; the girl kept her gaze steadily in front