So now Pierre fought down his suspicions and his fears. He had not recognized Prosper. The man who had come in out of the white night, four years ago, had worn his cap low over his eyes, his collar turned up about his face, and, even at that, Pierre, in his drunken stupor, had not been able to see him very clearly. This Prosper Gael who had stood behind the footlights, this Prosper Gael at whom Joan, from some unknown cause, had sprung like a woman maddened by injury, was a person entirely strange to Pierre. But Pierre hated him. The man had done Joan some insufferable mischief, which at the last had driven her beside herself. Pierre put up a hand, pressing it against his eyes. He wanted to shut out the picture of that struggling girl with her torn dress and the double scar across her shoulder. If it hadn't been for the scar he would never have known her--his Joan, his gentle, silent Joan! What had they been doing to her to change her so? No, not they. He. He had changed her. He had branded her and driven her out. It was his fault. He must try to find her again, to find the old Joan--if she should live. The doctor had said that she was desperately ill. O God! What was keeping him so long? Why didn't he come? The arrival of the trained nurse distracted Pierre for a few moments. She went past him in her gray cloak, very quiet and earnest, and the elevator lifted her out of sight. "Were you in the theater to-night?" asked the girl at the desk, seeing that he was temporarily aware of her again. "Yes, ma'am." She was puzzled by his appearance and the fashion of his speech. He must be a gentleman, she thought, for his bearing was gentle and assured and unself-conscious, but he wore his clothes differently and spoke differently from other gentlemen. That "Yes, ma'am," especially disturbed her. Then she remembered a novel she had read and her mind jumped to a conclusion. She leaned forward. "Say, aren't you from the West?" "Yes, ma'am." "You weren't ever a cowboy, were you?" Pierre smiled. "Yes, ma'am. I was raised in a cow-camp. I was a cowboy till about seven years ago when I took to ranchin'." "Where was that?" "Out in Wyoming." "And you've come straight from there to New York?" She pronounced it "Noo Yoik." "No, ma'am. I've been in Alasky for two years now. I've been in a lumber-camp." "Gee! That's real interesting. And you knew Miss West before she came East, then?" "Yes, ma'am." But there was a subtle change in Pierre's patient voice and clear, unhappy eyes, so that the girl fell to humming and bottled up her curiosity. But just as soon as he began to brood again she gave up her whole mind to staring at him. Gee! He was brown and strong and thin! And a good-looker! She wished that she had worn her transformation that evening and her blue blouse. He might have taken more interest in her. A stout, bald-headed man, bag in hand, stepped out of the elevator, and Pierre rippled to his feet. "Are you the doctor?"