you are my guest here. You will not be questioned. No one need know
who you are. It will not matter if you look distressed. You have
just heard of the dreadful thing that has happened to me. You--"

"Happened to you?" cried the girl, drawing the coat about her.

"A member of my family has died. They know it in the hotel by this
time. I was called to the death bed--to-night. That is all you will
have to know."

"Oh, I am sorry--"

"Come, let us go in. When we reach my rooms, you may order food and
drink. You must do it, not I. Please try to remember that it is I
who am suffering, not you."

A sleepy night watchman took them up in the elevator. He was not
even interested. Mrs. Wrandall did not speak, but leaned rather
heavily on the arm of her companion. The door had no sooner closed
behind them when the girl collapsed. She sank to the floor in a
heap.

"Get up!" commanded her hostess sharply. This was not the time for
soft, persuasive words. "Get up at once. You are young and strong.
You must show the stuff you are made of now if you ever mean to
show it. I cannot help you if you quail."

The girl looked up piteously, and then struggled to her feet. She
stood before her protectress, weaving like a frail reed in the
wind, pallid to the lips.