Crane won the rubber, and spent considerable gallantry upon Nellie in compensation. Cameron had yawned all through, but no one had noticed. Crane lighted a cigarette and perched upon the corner of the dining-table. "I say, Joe, got anything on to-morrow night?" "I have," said Cameron. "Something you can't chuck?" "Scarcely. A director's dinner." Crane grew thoughtful. "You certainly are a victim of the power-passion," he sighed, considering Cameron. "I don't know how you stand it. I'd have more money, no doubt, if I weren't so apathetic, but, by Jinks, it doesn't look worth it to me!" "A question of taste," said Cameron briefly. "Taste? If that were all!" He smoked, looking at Nellie through the haze. "I say, Nell, I've got tickets for Kreisler to-morrow night. Come with me, there's a good girl! Lend me your wife, will you, Joe?" "Lend?" echoed Nellie. "I like that! Anybody'd take me for goods and chattels. Of course I'll come. I'd love to." "You know, Joey," Crane went on simply, "Nellie's the only woman I know that it's real joy to hear music with. She knows what she's listening to. A fellow can sort of forget that he's got her along, an still be glad he has. As for you, you old money-hunting blunderbuss, the way you squirm in the presence of music ought to be a penitentiary offense. I'm almost glad you can't go." He gave a laugh that was dangerously genuine, and bolted for the hall to get his coat and hat. "Poor old Joe is almost asleep," said Nellie, sweetly. Joe did not look it, but Willoughby got out solicitously, and he sat upon a damp bench opposite Cameron's glowing windows, and he laughed and laughed till a policeman sternly ordered him to move on. "Isn't Willoughby a dear!" Nellie commented as she moved about, putting things in their places for the night. Cameron yawned obviously. Nellie hummed a snatch of a tune. All that long night Cameron lay stretched upon the edge of their bed, staring into the lumpy darkness. Nellie slept like a baby. But once, soon after the lights were turned off, Cameron's blood froze by inches from his head to his feet. It seemed to him that Nellie was laughing, was fairly biting her pillow to keep from laughing aloud! Gravely, of the darkness, he asked how all this had come about. He asked it of the familiar, shadowy heap of Nellie's clothes upon the chair by the window, asked if he had deserved it. Toward dawn he slept. III Cameron, after the way of the new man, kept some evening clothes down town. It saved traveling. The next afternoon, about four o'clock, there came, somewhere between the pit of his stomach and his brain, an aching weight. Conscience! At six-thirty he hung his dinner-jacket back in the closet and sent the directors word that he had a headache. Then, as blind as a moth, he started for home, for that lamp about which Nellie "Loved to buzz."