"Yes," she agreed. "Dramatic pun
ishment, Is it not? You can regale
Miss Floyd with the tale. You are on
your way to her, of course."
"Miss Carlisle!"
She rose, drawing around her the
heavy folds 'of velvet He saw now
the faint Unes about her delicate
mouth and the new hardness of her
tawny eyes. She had suffered, was
suffering also.
"Congratulate her from me, Mr.
Stanton. At least she has known a
man, whatever It has cost her."
Yes, Floyd bad played a man's part.
Whatever the anguish of losing blm,
It was a matter of congratulation to
have known him. It never occurred to
Stanton that Valerie Carlisle might
have meant him, himself.
It was afternoon when Stanton ar
rived in New York, among the snow
sprinkled, hilarious crowds that
thronged the streets. And then be
first realized tbat this waa the day be
fore Christmas. Christmas? Holiday?
With a vague Impulse to escape it all,
he hailed a taxlcab. A girl with ber
arms full of holly brushed past blm as
be reached the curb, a man in uniform
stopped blm with a hastily recited
plea for aid to the hungry poor. At
him Stanton looked, "and put a yellow
bill-In the outstretched hand.
"Sir!" the man cried, pursuing him
with ready book and pencil. "What
name? So generoua "
"Floyd," Stanton answered, and
stepped Into the vehicle.
The address he gave to the chauf
feur was that of the quiet up town
apartment house.
The little old Irishwoman clad in
black silk opened the door. He fan
cied she had aged, but on seeing him
she broke Into beaming smiles and
ushered him In with eager welcome.
