BOTH in situation and in itself, Stone’s Hotel is respectable and dull. Desperately so, Marian found it, as she stood looking out of the drawing room window on the sunlit, colorless street. She was alone. It was an Early Victorian room; heavy, dingy red curtains hung down starkly before the window from a heavy, gilded cornice. The carpet also was dingy red, with faded roses of huge proportions displayed thereon; the walls were covered with dirty gold-and-white paper, chastened by oleographs in clumsy gold frames; over the mantelpiece there was a fly-blown, gilt-framed mirror; the furniture was upholstered in well-worn red velvet, and over the backs of the chairs and sofa were draped dirty white crochet antimacassars; in the center stood a huge round table covered with a green and black cloth and adorned with a careful selection of assorted hotel guides and photograph albums, among which a stray Tauchnitz volume looked sadly out of place; over the whole lay the blight of dust and dreariness. Marian had dressed carefully in black, the single touch of color being a gold brooch at her neck. She turned, with a gesture of impatience, away from the empty street to the empty room, and sat down by the fire, the one spot of warmth and brightness. Her brows knit as she thought over the situation in which she had placed herself. She was ready to cross the Rubicon; had gone so far that return was unthinkable. It now depended upon Maddison whether her first fight would be a victory or a disastrous defeat. But she felt stronger now that she was free, and determinedly put aside all thought of what would face her if she failed to win. The sharp pulling up of a hansom and the ringing of the house-bell made her listen eagerly. The subdued maidservant threw open the door and Maddison came in. “It is so good of you to come!” Marian said, rising and holding out her hand. “I hope you didn’t mind my writing to you, but I’ve—no one else.” The weariness and despondency in her voice and attitude hurt him. “Of course I don’t mind—why on earth should I? Is—what’s happened?” She sat down again, her back to the light, and he took the chair on the opposite side of the hearth. He could not see her face very distinctly in the dull room, but this very dimness gave an added charm to her beauty. She did not answer his question immediately, though her lips parted as if she were anxious but unable to speak. “Now you’re here,” she said at last, “I’m frightened. I’d no right to ask you to come, but—I’d no one else, and I’m——” Tears came into her eyes, rolling slowly down her cheeks. Then she covered her face with her hands, watching him very keenly between her fingers. He rose quickly and came over to her, resting his hand upon the back of her chair and only by an effort restraining himself from catching her in his arms. “I’m so sorry,” he said, “so sorry, and so glad you did send for me. Don’t—don’t cry.” “I’m so helpless!” she sobbed.