She said: “Steadily more and more, I came to think about your People. They were all about me. They were all sorts. I wanted something of them. But they knew nothing. They knew nothing of themselves. Where was the difference between them and us? They had the same women, they had the same money, they played the same miserable games for both. Why did I want something of them?... “The Truth!... Perhaps because of Leon ... perhaps because of the ministry of Harry; because I knew of my own weakness--I wanted of them the Truth. “There were six years of the House.” “And then--?” the boy’s voice was hoarse. He felt the sordid room and the sordid flat. He had forgot the sordid reason of his coming. He felt the sharp incongruence of the wine he had drunk and of the slender glasses, and of the candles that rose and that burned, rising, lower, at the table. “What was the end?” “The struggle between Jim Statt and Mangel grew. It grew bitter. There was no reason for it. Statt persecuted Abe ... pinched him and tortured him: above all humiliated him. Until what Tessie had foreseen came true.” “What was that?” “Mangel the dirty Jew--O he was that!--Mangel turned good.” * * * * * Clara is sick. “I find nothing serious,” says the Doctor. “A bad bronchial cough, a chest none too strong but unaffected. Somewhat run-down--and nervous.” Fanny knew better--and worse. Clara stays in bed. The House moves on. But with six years done, Fanny can see a difference: and in no fact more clearly than that Clara is sick. --She is wearing out! _She_ who is not thirty. The House is wearing out. I? She brought her friend to her own room on the Fourth floor, where it was quieter, where they could be better together. The Fourth floor was a hush over the hard accent of the House. “I am happy here,” smiled Clara. “It’s great fun being sick--and having you nurse me in your own dear place.” Mark came little: came less. Nobody cared. Clara and Fanny thought nothing of that. But Clara got no better. There she was weak ... no worse ... but also no better. “The House wears away,” thought Fanny ... and tried not to think of that. “What does that matter?” But the House went on. Fanny shopped and ruled and entertained. There was the hush above that grew: there was the wonted accent of their world below, wearing, wearing.... “I am afraid perhaps, I’m just lazy,” Clara said. “Doc don’t think I’m sick. I’d better get up--“ “You’re tired, dear.” “To-morrow I get up!” “No.... Clara, when you get up, you’ll go back to your room downstairs. I love you, here, Clara.” Clara’s heavy eyelids shut with a soft gesture of retiscence. The light in the room was dimmed. The wood was old and mellow all about them. “Thank you,” she murmured. Laughter and a volley of words pushed up. “Who’s that?” “Mildred Dozen is here. And Thelma----“ “They’re wild animals, aren’t they?” “Yes. But Thelma’s stayed wild. Mildred’s a wild animal tamed....”