On toward morning, Harriet, who slept but restlessly in her towel, wakened to the glare of his light over the transom. “K.!” she called pettishly from her door. “I wish you wouldn't go to sleep and let your light burn!” K., surmising the towel and cold cream, had the tact not to open his door. “I am not asleep, Harriet, and I am sorry about the light. It's going out now.” Before he extinguished the light, he walked over to the old dresser and surveyed himself in the glass. Two nights without sleep and much anxiety had told on him. He looked old, haggard; infinitely tired. Mentally he compared himself with Wilson, flushed with success, erect, triumphant, almost insolent. Nothing had more certainly told him the hopelessness of his love for Sidney than her good-night kiss. He was her brother, her friend. He would never be her lover. He drew a long breath and proceeded to undress in the dark. Joe Drummond came to see Sidney the next day. She would have avoided him if she could, but Mimi had ushered him up to the sewing-room boudoir before she had time to escape. She had not seen the boy for two months, and the change in him startled her. He was thinner, rather hectic, scrupulously well dressed. “Why, Joe!” she said, and then: “Won't you sit down?” He was still rather theatrical. He dramatized himself, as he had that night the June before when he had asked Sidney to marry him. He stood just inside the doorway. He offered no conventional greeting whatever; but, after surveying her briefly, her black gown, the lines around her eyes:-- “You're not going back to that place, of course?” “I--I haven't decided.” “Then somebody's got to decide for you. The thing for you to do is to stay right here, Sidney. People know you on the Street. Nobody here would ever accuse you of trying to murder anybody.” In spite of herself, Sidney smiled a little. “Nobody thinks I tried to murder him. It was a mistake about the medicines. I didn't do it, Joe.” His love was purely selfish, for he brushed aside her protest as if she had not spoken. “You give me the word and I'll go and get your things; I've got a car of my own now.” “But, Joe, they have only done what they thought was right. Whoever made it, there was a mistake.” He stared at her incredulously. “You don't mean that you are going to stand for this sort of thing? Every time some fool makes a mistake, are they going to blame it on you?” “Please don't be theatrical. Come in and sit down. I can't talk to you if you explode like a rocket all the time.” Her matter-of-fact tone had its effect. He advanced into the room, but he still scorned a chair. “I guess you've been wondering why you haven't heard from me,” he said. “I've seen you more than you've seen me.” Sidney looked uneasy. The idea of espionage is always repugnant, and to have a rejected lover always in the offing, as it were, was disconcerting.