His quiet smile was gone now; lines appeared in Anthony's countenance as he looked at her--and then, wasting no further time in aimless comment, he turned and tottered into the corridor. Mary meant just what she said. Robert Vining and Johnson Boller were sprawling in the deep chairs, opposite one another, smoking comfortably and giving every evidence of having settled down for a considerable session. Young Mr. Vining grinned through the smoke at his older friend. "Sit down, Anthony," said he. "We're just going over the thing round by round, to see if either of us can remember a worse fight for the money. We're working on round two, just now." Anthony smiled strangely and laid a dramatic hand upon his brow. "I will not join the discussion," he said. "Eh? What's the matter?" Robert asked, sitting up. "Headache! One of the--er--headaches that make my life a burden!" Anthony groaned. "I never knew you had 'em," young Vining said with a mystified smile. "Neither did I," Johnson Boller contributed healthfully. "Did you have it before you talked to Wilkins, there?" pursued Robert, who owned a really keen mind. "Er--it was just coming on." "No bad news, old chap?" Vining said, crossing his legs the other way. Anthony shook his head and smiled again, indicating suffering that was not all simulated. "No, just the--er--headache," he said. "Comes on suddenly, you know, and settled in the back of my head and neck. There is only one thing that can be done for it and that is a steady massage. Perhaps you'd do that for me, Johnson?" "Sure," said Johnson Boller, whose eyes shot two questions to the second. "Sit down and we can go on talking while I rub." "Well, I have to lie down for this," Anthony explained. "On the bed, you know, and it's--well, it is likely to take an hour or more. You wouldn't care to wait around, Bob?" Mr. Vining gazed steadily at him. No refined intuition was necessary to tell Anthony that it was not his morning for tactful dismissals. This effort, evidently, had carried the delicate touch of a blow from a baseball bat, for Robert, flushing slightly, spoke with unpleasant crispness: "No, I couldn't wait, I'm sure. And while I don't understand it, of course, I'm sure I'm sorry to have intruded. Good-by." "You--haven't intruded," Anthony cried. "Only----" "Well, don't bother explaining," said young Mr. Vining. "I beg your pardon for breaking in and--good morning." Wherewith he stalked out to the corridor, removed his hat from the rack without the assistance of Wilkins and, opening the door himself, closed it after him with a careful lack of force that was more expressive than any slam. "Gone off mad!" Johnson Boller said. "I can't help it!" Anthony said miserably.