"You've done me a mighty good turn," Vance stammered, and the other replied: "Oh, well—call on me if there's any other way I can be of use." Then the lift received Vance, and he dropped down the long flights, dizzy with what he had achieved, and a little ashamed at the poor return he had made for it. But Hayes with his damned grapefruit spying out the misery of the bungalow—no.

On the way home he felt a sudden buoyancy, combined with a new steadiness and composure of mind. He was even able to enjoy the humour of the situation as he ran over the list of subjects the publicity agent had given him to try his hand on. At a newstand he bought a handful of picture magazines, and plunged into the advertising pages, comparing, criticising, mentally touching them up. Evidently what "Storecraft" wanted was a combination of Sinclair Lewis, Kathleen Norris, and Mrs. Eddy. Well, he thought he could manage that, and even go them one better… . He longed for someone to share his laugh, and the thought of Halo Tarrant flashed out, as it always did when the human comedy or tragedy held up a new mask to him. Poor Laura Lou would not be able to see the joke. Her admiration for Bunty Hayes was based on his scholarship and eloquence—Vance remembered how much she had been impressed by the literary quality of Mrs. Scrimser's advance circular. Her simplicity had irritated him at the moment; now he saw it through a rosy gleam of amusement. After all, he decided he would tell Laura Lou about his visit to Hayes and their arrangement. It would please her to know that the two men were friends; and somehow he felt he owed it to her not to conceal Hayes's generosity. He had never forgotten the crumpled love letter he had picked up in her room, in the early days at Paul's Landing. He reached his journey's end, and swung down the lane whistling and singing through the night… .

He banged on the front door, but there was no answer. He tried the handle and it opened. How often he had told Laura Lou to lock up in his absence! Really, her carelessness … The room was pitch-dark and cold. He stumbled over something and fell to his knees. "Laura Lou—Laura Lou!" he cried out in deadly terror.

By the light of his electric torch he saw her lying almost across the threshold. She was quite still, her face ashy white under the faint yellow hair. At first in his horror he imagined an accident, a crime; but as he bent over, whispering and crying her name, and chafing her icy hands in his, her lids lifted and she gave him the comforted look of a tired child.

"Laura Lou! Darling! What's the matter?"

"Carry me back to bed, Vanny. I'll be all right." She spoke so quietly that he was half reassured.