All that afternoon Agatha wandered about the library. She felt a surprising indifference toward her thesis. Every little while she drew forth Mr. McVicar’s card. It contained, in addition to his name, a line written in pencil, “Telephone, River 0630.” Why had he written that? _She_ had no further need of him! But as tea-time neared she remembered a place that she felt absolutely called upon to visit in connection with her work: a narrow down-town street, with its hosts of children all a-dance on the gas-lighted pavement. Could she visit the crowded block alone? And was Mr. McVicar’s time up for that day before, say, ten or eleven o’clock? Certainly not. And if she paid for his time was she not entitled to his company She asked central for River o-six-three-o. A maid’s voice answered the telephone. “Tell Mr. McVicar,” said Agatha, “that Miss Kerr will want him this evening at eight.” “Very well, miss.” Agatha, smiling and rosy faced, made her way tunefully up the staircase. “What! Going out at night?” demanded Miss Connaughton, from the drawing-room. “Of course,” said Agatha; “what have I an escort for? Oh, tra-la-la, tra-la-la,” and, singing, she disappeared. * * * * * Agatha had promised to telephone Miss Connaughton, so she rang up directly they stepped from the cars at the down-town station. “I can’t possibly get home till eleven, Auntie dear,” she announced. “It took us forty minutes to come just this far.” “Oh, Agatha!” came back the reply. “Come home--awful news--Mr. Avery----” “I can’t hear you,” cried Agatha. “The elevated is making such a noise. Rattle your ’phone.” “Insolent trick,” went on Miss Connaughton. The remainder was a jumble. Agatha told Mr. McVicar about it. “I--can’t--go--home,” she said. “This--evening--is--dreadfully--important. Don’t--you--think--so?” “YES,” he wrote--all in capitals. Offering her his arm, he hurried her away. It was not an ideal evening for Jones Street. There were clouds overhead in massive motion before a hot wind. The gas-jets leaped and hissed down the narrow streets, which looked particularly dark and forbidding. Perhaps the children would not dance on the pavement that night. Agatha did not care. Mr. McVicar obviously did not feel as cheerful as she. It was as if all the heart had gone out of him. And he kept looking back. It made Agatha nervous. She took to glancing behind also. What was he expecting? They approached the lone figure of a man--a forlorn figure that slouched into the entrance of a building just ahead. Mr. McVicar crossed the street. They passed other figures. He looked each over keenly. She shivered a little. Oh, she was glad he was so big!