"Please don't say such things about yourself," entreated Mildred. "You were not mistaken. I did--ah--I sobbed--I mean I coughed. I had something in my throat," she concluded nervously. "I'm relieved," smiled the other, and, going to the piano, she struck the keys, and sang in a high contralto voice: "O, Genevieve, I'd give the world To live again the lovely past! The rose of youth was dew-impearled; But now it withers in the blast. I see thy face in every dream, My waking thoughts are full of thee; Thy glance is in the starry beam That falls along the summer sea." It was in the small hours of the morning when Mildred Latham's eyes closed in sleep. All the night through, the strains of _Sweet Genevieve_ and what it recalled, tortured her memory, until it was from sheer fatigue that she did at last fall asleep. She hoped Constance would play _Sweet Genevieve_ no more. CHAPTER TEN "_Do Something and You'll Find Out_" In Attalia, there is a street which includes all that goes with Ethiopian. It is called Dalton street, and along its narrow way--for it is narrow, and one of the oldest streets in the city--occurs much that is deplorable. On this selfsame street, an incident took place, in which Sidney Wyeth happened to figure as more than the casual observer. It was in late afternoon of a cold wet day. He had been delivering books, and had a considerable amount of the proceeds of the delivery in his pockets, when, while on the way to the office, he chanced to be passing down this street. He looked up, and found himself before a large, odd appearing structure. A uniformed man stood at the front, and, in passing, Wyeth paused a moment, took in the proportions of the building with a critical gaze, and inquired of the man what it was. The other looked at him with an expression which seemed to say: "You ought to know!" But grinning, he replied: "Do something and you'll damn quick find out! It's the police station." "M-m-m-m! You wouldn't be likely to find out if you didn't, I suppose," he laughed, as he continued on his way. During Sidney Wyeth's bachelor life on the _Rosebud_, he had been a victim of the habit of going to town, and loafing the night through, occasionally. There had, in the beginning, been a great deal of gambling there, and to watch this was an absorbing pastime. It served, also, as he then felt, as a diversion to break the monotony of his lonesome life.