This last consideration took him somewhat reluctantly to her side. "There, there!" he pleaded, intensely irritated by that feeling of helplessness which always afflicts man in the presence of a weeping woman, whether or not he has the right to comfort her. "There--don't cry, please, Miss--ah--Thursday. You're all right--really, you are. You--you're--ah--doing all this quite needlessly, I give you my word." He might as well have attempted to stem a mountain torrent. "I wish I could make you understand this is all quite unnecessary," he groaned. "I--I'm so mis'able!" came a wail from the huddled figure. "I'm sorry," he said uncomfortably--"awfully sorry, truly. But you--I'm not afraid you won't make good, and I don't intend to let you go until you've had every chance in the world. That's a promise." He ventured to give her quaking shoulder a light, encouraging pat or two, and rested his hand upon the corner of the table. "Come, now--brace up--please. I--" With a strangled sob Joan sat up, caught his hand and carried it to her lips. Before he could recover from his astonishment it was damp with her tears and kisses. Instantly he snatched it away. "You--you're so good to me!" she cried. Matthias, horrified, stepped back a pace or two, as if to insure himself against a repetition of her offence, and quite mechanically dried his hand with a handkerchief. And then, in a flash, he lost his temper. "What the devil do you mean by doing that to me?" he demanded harshly. "Look here--you stop this nonsense. I won't have it. I--why--it's outrageous! What right have you got to--to do anything like that?" The shock of his anger brought the girl to her senses. Her tears ceased in an instant, as if automatically. She rose, mopping her face with her handkerchief, swallowed one last sob, and moved sullenly toward the door. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I--you've been very kind to me--I forgot myself. I'm sorry." "Well ..." he said grudgingly, in his irritation. "But don't let it happen again." "There's no chance of that," the girl retorted with a brief-lived flash of spirit. "Good night." "Good night," he returned. She was gone before he recovered; and then compunction smote him, and he followed her as far as the hallway. In the half-light of the flickering gas-jet, he saw her only as a shadow slowly mounting the staircase. And a glance toward the front door discovered indistinct shapes of lodgers on the stoop. "Miss Thursday!" he called in a guarded voice. She heard, hesitated a single instant, then with quickened steps resumed the ascent. He called once again, but she refused to listen, and he returned to his study in a state of insensate rage; which, however, had this time himself for its sole object--Joan's transgression quite lost sight of in remorse for his brutality. He could not remember ever having spoken to any woman in such wise: no man had any right to speak to any woman in such a manner, for any cause, however exasperating.