“I want you to be out of this apartment by noon,” said Eris quietly. Then she opened the hall door and ran downstairs, Hattie’s malignant laugh ringing in her ears. When Eris had disappeared, the negress waddled to the gas stove, lit it, and started to make herself a cup of tea. She meant to do what gastronomic damage she could short of theft. Before the kettle boiled, the telephone rang. To ignore it was a haughty pleasure for Hattie; but presently African curiosity prevailed and she got up and waddled to the telephone, muttering to herself. “Yaas, suh?” she replied to some query. “_Who?_” “Mistuh Annan?” “No, suh, she ain’t home. Dey’s nobody home ’cept’n myse’f.” Annan said: “I’ve some flowers. I’d like to arrange them to surprise Miss Odell. Could I bring them around, Hattie?” “Suit yo’se’f, suh. It ain’t botherin’ me none.” “I’ll be right around,” he said gaily. She went sullenly back to her kettle, meditating mischief. Annan arrived in a few moments, laden with long, flat boxes of pasteboard. He nodded pleasantly to Hattie, took his flowers to the living-room, returned to fetch a dozen plain glass vases, jars and rose-bowls, and went happily back to the business of decoration. He remained very busy for half an hour or more, filling the vases at her bath-tub, clipping stems, trimming too profuse foliage, arranging the sheaves of fragrant bloom, and carrying each vase to its proper place in the three rooms. When he had finished, and on his way out, he stopped to speak to Hattie at the dining-room door: “Please ask Miss Odell to call me up when she returns,” he said. “I suppose she has gone to the studio,” he added. “I don’t know, suh. Miss Eris’ husband he stayed here las’ night. I reckon she’s payin’ him a call, maybe.” Annan stared at her as though she suddenly had gone mad. “Yaas, suh,” continued the negress, “I’se quit, I has. Too many doin’s in this here flat to suit me. I guess you all didn’t know Miss Eris had a husband sleepin’ here,” she added with a bland malignance that stunned him. He inspected the wench in silence for a moment, then turned sharply on his heel and went down stairs. His taxi was waiting. He drove directly home, entered his study and sat down to the sorry business of waiting. All the morning and afternoon he waited there, his face white and set, his grim gaze fixed on space. About five o’clock he called up. The house did not answer. Eris had asked him not to call her at the studio for obvious reasons, and he never had done so, except by previous agreement. But now he decided to do so. He got the doorman, Flynn. “Yes, sir; Miss Odell come in half an hour ago.” “Is the company working?” inquired Annan nervously. “No, sir, nobody’s here to-day except Miss Odell and Mr. Smull----” “_Who?_” “Mr. Smull, sir. He just come in a minute since----Hold the wire, please.” After a minute or two the door-keeper’s voice: “She’s busy, sir. She can’t talk to you now----”