While Sidney watched the stars from her hospital roof, while all around her the slum children, on other roofs, fought for the very breath of life, others who knew and loved her watched the stars, too. K. was having his own troubles in those days. Late at night, when Anna and Harriet had retired, he sat on the balcony and thought of many things. Anna Page was not well. He had noticed that her lips were rather blue, and had called in Dr. Ed. It was valvular heart disease. Anna was not to be told, or Sidney. It was Harriet's ruling. “Sidney can't help any,” said Harriet, “and for Heaven's sake let her have her chance. Anna may live for years. You know her as well as I do. If you tell her anything at all, she'll have Sidney here, waiting on her hand and foot.” And Le Moyne, fearful of urging too much because his own heart was crying out to have the girl back, assented. Then, K. was anxious about Joe. The boy did not seem to get over the thing the way he should. Now and then Le Moyne, resuming his old habit of wearying himself into sleep, would walk out into the country. On one such night he had overtaken Joe, tramping along with his head down. Joe had not wanted his company, had plainly sulked. But Le Moyne had persisted. “I'll not talk,” he said; “but, since we're going the same way, we might as well walk together.” But after a time Joe had talked, after all. It was not much at first--a feverish complaint about the heat, and that if there was trouble in Mexico he thought he'd go. “Wait until fall, if you're thinking of it,” K. advised. “This is tepid compared with what you'll get down there.” “I've got to get away from here.” K. nodded understandingly. Since the scene at the White Springs Hotel, both knew that no explanation was necessary. “It isn't so much that I mind her turning me down,” Joe said, after a silence. “A girl can't marry all the men who want her. But I don't like this hospital idea. I don't understand it. She didn't have to go. Sometimes”--he turned bloodshot eyes on Le Moyne--“I think she went because she was crazy about somebody there.” “She went because she wanted to be useful.” “She could be useful at home.” For almost twenty minutes they tramped on without speech. They had made a circle, and the lights of the city were close again. K. stopped and put a kindly hand on Joe's shoulder. “A man's got to stand up under a thing like this, you know. I mean, it mustn't be a knockout. Keeping busy is a darned good method.” Joe shook himself free, but without resentment. “I'll tell you what's eating me up,” he exploded. “It's Max Wilson. Don't talk to me about her going to the hospital to be useful. She's crazy about him, and he's as crooked as a dog's hind leg.” “Perhaps. But it's always up to the girl. You know that.” He felt immeasurably old beside Joe's boyish blustering--old and rather helpless. “I'm watching him. Some of these days I'll get something on him. Then she'll know what to think of her hero!”