While he and his companion toyed listlessly with the silver-plated dishes in front of them, Annie busied herself about the room, trying to put it in order. Everything lay about just as it had been thrown the night before. The place looked as if a cyclone had devastated a second-hand clothing store. In the alcove a man's dress coat and vest were thrown carelessly on the cushions; a silk hat, badly rumpled, was near it. An opera cloak had been flung on the sofa, and on a chair was a huge picture hat with costly feathers. A pair of women's gloves were thrown over the cheval glass. The curtains in the bay window were half-drawn, filling the room with a rather dim light. Laura preferred it so. She did not wish Brockton to see the ravages which late hours and overabundance of rich foods were making on her complexion. She still had some feminine vanity left. With a grunt and gesture of annoyance, Brockton threw his paper aside. Looking around, he demanded impatiently: "Have you seen the _Recorder_, Laura?" His companion was engrossed in the theatrical gossip of the _Morning Chronicle_. Without looking up, she replied indifferently: "No." "Where is it?" he growled. "I don't know," she answered calmly, still intent on her own paper. Brockton began to lose his temper, as he did easily when not feeling just right. Not daring to vent his ill humor on his _vis a vis_, he looked around for the colored maid. Loudly he called: "Annie----! Annie----!! Annie!!!" In a savage undertone, half directed at Laura, he growled: "Where the devil is that lazy nigger?" Laura looked up, a mild expression of indignant surprise on her face. Quietly she said: "I suppose she's gone to get her breakfast." "Well, she ought to be here," he snapped. "Did it ever occur to you," said Laura quickly, "that she has got to eat, just the same as you have?" "She's your servant, isn't she?" he barked. "My maid," she corrected, with difficulty controlling herself. "Well, what have you got her for--to eat, or to wait on you?" Again he thundered: "Annie!" "Don't be so cross," protested Laura. "What do you want?" "I want the paper," he growled, pouring out one half-glass of water from a bottle. "I will get it for you," she said, with quiet dignity. Wearily she got up and went to the table where there were other morning papers. Taking the _Recorder_, she handed it to him, and, returning to her seat, reopened the _Chronicle_. He relapsed into a sulky silence, and for a few minutes there was peace. Suddenly Annie entered the room from the sleeping apartments. "Do yuh want me, suh?" she asked, with the ludicrous grin characteristic of her race. "Yes!" snapped the broker. "I did want you, but don't now. When I'm at home I have a man to look after me, and I get what I want----" Laura looked up angrily. Her patience was exhausted.