“I don’t know, ma’am. Mr. Gerry hasn’t come back since he went out this morning.” To John, Mr. Lansing was a person who had been dead for some time. His present overlords were Mr. and Mrs. Gerry and Mrs. Lansing when she was in town. “Telephone to the club, and if he is there, tell him I want to see him,” said Alix, and turned to her welcome tea. The sandwiches seemed unusually small to her ravenous appetite. Gerry was not at the club. Alix dressed resplendently for dinner. Never had she dressed for any other man with the care that she dressed for Gerry that night. But Gerry did not come. At half-past nine Alix ordered the table cleared. “I’ll not dine to-night,” she said to John. “When your master comes, show him in here.” She sat on in the library, listening for Gerry’s step in the hall. From time to time John came into the room to replenish the fire. On one of these occasions Alix told him he might go to bed; but an hour later he returned and stood in the door. Alix looked very small, curled up in a great leathern chair by the fire. “It’s after one o’clock, ma’am,” said John. “Mr. Gerry won’t be coming in to-night.” Alix made no answer. John held his ground. “It’s time for you to go to bed, ma’am. Shall I call the maid?” It was a long time since John had taken any apparent interest in his mistress. Alix had avoided him. She had felt that the old servant disapproved of her. More than once she had thought of discharging him, but he had never given her grounds that would justify her before Gerry. Now he was ordering her to bed, and instead of being angry, she was soothed. She wondered how she could ever have thought of discharging him. He seemed strong and restful, more like part of the old house than a servant. Alix got up. “No, don’t call the maid. I won’t need her,” she said. Then she added, “Good night, John,” as she passed out. John held wide the door, and bowed with a deference that was a touch more sincere than usual. “Good night,” he answered, as though he meant it. Alix was exhausted, but it was long before she fell asleep. She cried softly. She wanted to be comforted. She had dressed so beautifully, she had been so beautiful, and Gerry had not come home. As she cried, her disappointment grew into a great trouble. She awoke early from a feverish sleep. Immediately a sense of weight assailed her. She rang, and learned that Gerry had not yet come home. Then his words of yesterday suddenly came to her, “If I dropped out of the world to-day--” Alix stared wide-eyed at the ceiling. Why had she remembered those words? She lay for a long time, thinking. Her breakfast was brought to her, but she did not touch it. It was almost noon in the cloudy Sunday morning when she roused herself from apathy. She sprang from the bed. She summoned Judge Healey with a note and Mrs. Lansing with a telegram. The telegram was carefully worded: Please come and stay for a while. Gerry is away.