looked tenderly at Alice, "and--well, I cut the whole thing out, gambling
and all. That was six months ago."

"And the lady?" sneered Mother Bonneton. "Do you mean to tell us you
haven't had anything to do with her for six months?"

"I haven't even seen her," he declared, "for more than six months."

"A likely story! Besides, what we know is enough. I shall write M. Groener
to-night and tell him the facts. Meantime--" She rose and pointed to the
door.

Alice and Kittredge rose also, the one indignant and aggrieved at this
wanton affront to her lover, the other gloomily resigned to what seemed to
be his fate.

"Well," said he, facing Alice with a discouraged gesture, "things are
against us. I'm grateful to you for believing in me and I--I'd like to know
why you turned me down this afternoon. But I probably never shall. I--I'll
be going now."

He was actually moving toward the door, and she, almost fainting with
emotion, was rallying her strength for a last appeal when the bell in the
hall tinkled sharply. Mother Bonneton answered the call and returned a
moment later followed by the doorkeeper from below, a cheery little woman
who bustled in carrying a note.

"It's for the gentleman," she explained, "from a lady waiting in a
carriage. It's very important." With this she delivered a note to Kittredge
and added in an exultant whisper to the sacristan's wife that the lady had