“I don’t know what to think.... I have found much kindness among strangers.” He laughed and lighted a cigarette. The avenue was nearly deserted. At Forty-second Street the taxi swung west to Seventh Avenue, south, passing Twenty-third Street, west again through a maze of crooked old-time streets. It stopped, finally, before a two-story and basement house of red brick--one of many similar houses that lined both sides of a dark and very silent block. Annan got out, paid his fare, took the little satchel, and handed Eris out. “Is it a boarding house?” she asked. “One lodges well here,” he replied carelessly. They ascended the stoop; Annan used his latch-key, let her in, switched on the light. “Come up,” he said briefly. On the landing at the top of the stairs he switched on another light, opened a door, lighted a third bracket. “Come in!” Eris entered the bed-room. It was large. So was the bed, a four-poster. So was the furniture. “Here’s your bath-room,” he remarked, opening a door into a white-tiled room. He stepped inside to be certain. There were plenty of towels, soap still in its wrapper, a row of bottles with flowers painted on them--evidently for masculine use--cologne, bay rum, witch hazel, hair-tonic. “Now,” he said, “your worries are over until to-morrow. There’s your tub, there’s your bed, there’s a key in the door. Lock it when you turn in. And don’t you stir until they bring your breakfast in the morning.” Eris nodded. “All right. Good-night.” She turned toward him as though still a little bewildered. “Are you going?” she asked timidly. “Yes. Is there anything you need?” “No.... I would like to thank you--if you are going....” “Little pilgrim,” he said, “I want to thank _you_ for an interesting evening.” He held out his hand; Eris laid hers in it. “You needn’t tell me your name,” he said smilingly,--“unless you choose to.” “Eris Odell.” “Eris! Well, that’s rather classic, isn’t it? That’s an--unusual--name.... Eris. Suggests Mount Ida and golden apples, doesn’t it?--Or is it your stage name?” Puzzled, smiling, he stood looking at her, still retaining her hand. “No, it’s my name.” “Well, then, my name is Barry Annan.... And I think it’s time we both got a little sleep....” He shook her slender hand formally, released it. “Good-night, Eris,” he said. “Lock your door and go to sleep.” “Good-night,” she replied in a tired, unsteady voice. * * * * * Annan walked through the corridor into the front bed-room and turned on his light. He seemed to be much amused with the situation,--a little worried, too.