Annan had forgotten Eris. “I’m going to get out of town,” he said. “I think I’ll go out to Esperence and get some golf. We can be back by 7:30. Does it appeal to you, Mike?” “It does, but I’m a business man, not a genius,” said Coltfoot, sarcastically. “Did you ship your tramp girl home?” “Oh, Lord, I clean forgot her,” exclaimed Annan. “I’ve got to go back to Governor’s Place. I must get rid of her before dinner----” He was already moving toward Sixth Avenue. He turned and called back, “Eight o’clock, Mike!” “All set,” grunted Coltfoot. An elevated train was Annan’s choice. Preoccupied with the problem of Eris, he arrived at No. 3 Governor’s Place before he had solved it. He didn’t want to hustle her out. He couldn’t have her there at eight o’clock. Letting himself into the little brick house with a latch-key, he glanced along the corridor that led into the dining-room, and saw Mrs. Sniffen in the butler’s pantry beyond. “Hello, Xantippe,” he said; “how’s the minx?” Mrs. Sniffen placed a cup of hot clam broth upon a tray. “Mr. Barry,” she said in an oddly altered voice, “that child is sick. She couldn’t keep her breakfast down.” “For heaven’s sake----” “I made her some broth for luncheon. No use at all. She couldn’t keep it.” “What do you suppose is the matter with her?” he demanded nervously. “Starvation. That’s my idea, sir. She’s that bony, Mr. Barry--no flesh on ’er except ’er ’ands and face,--and every rib to be seen plain as my nose!” “You think she hasn’t had enough to eat?” “That, and the stuff she did eat--and what with walking the streets in this ’eat and sleeping out in the Park----” Mrs. Sniffen hauled up the dumb-waiter and lifted off a covered dish. “Toasted biscuit,” she explained. “She can’t a-bear anything ’earty, Mr. Barry.” “Well,” he said, troubled, “what are we going to do with her?” “That’s for you to say, sir. You brought ’er ’ere.” He looked at Mrs. Sniffen and thought he detected a glimmer of satisfaction at his predicament. “Where is she?” he asked. “In bed, sir. She wants to dress and go away but I wouldn’t ’ave it, Mr. Barry. Ambulance and ’ospital--that’s what would ’appen next. And I ’ad a time with her, Mr. Barry. She said she was in the way and didn’t want to give trouble. Hup she must get and h’off to the streets--But I ’ad ’er clothes I did, soaking in my tubs.... I let ’er cry. I don’t say it ’urt ’er, either. It ’elped, according to my way of thinking.” “She can’t go if she’s ill,” he said; and looked at Mrs. Sniffen rather helplessly: “Do you think I’d better call in a doctor?” “No, sir. I don’t mind looking out for her. A little care is all she needs.” After a moment’s frowning reflection: “It will be awkward to-night,” he suggested. Mrs. Sniffen’s nose went up: “The ladies will ’ave to powder their faces in your room, Mr. Barry, and keep their ’ands off the piano.” He scowled at the prospect, then: “Here, give me that tray. I’ll feed her myself.”