In a twinkling, from the heights of triumphant pleasure, Dodo found herself plunged into profoundest dejection. It seemed as if everything must turn against her, that there could be no end to the defeats that were to pile up. At the end of the week a curt farewell letter came from Mr. Peavey, in which she believed she divined the hand of Brennon. For the first time, too, she felt the clammy touch of poverty. In the last months, unperceived, the props had dropped away, one by one. She had been foolish, extravagant. She had wanted to be as well dressed in the eyes of Massingale as the women of his world. She had sold, through Zip, the furs Stacey had given her, for the exigencies of the wardrobe. Trip by trip, she had gone into the shadow of the pawn-broker, sacrificing the silver toilet set, Sassoon's bracelet, the vanity-box, earrings, brooches, every convertible thing, until only two remained--Judge Massingale's bracelet, and the ring that Lindaberry had placed on her finger as a troth. When Peavey's automobile had been withdrawn, she had tried Gilday, only to find him out of town. When she had sought to bring Stacey back into the fold of the faithful, she found that his allegiance had been transferred. He came once to take her to luncheon, but it was out of a sentiment for the past, and a need of unbosoming himself. She listened with a little lonely feeling to his rhapsodies about another girl, and when it was over she made no attempt to recall him. The time was too short to seek out other alliances: she resigned herself to going on foot. It gave her a curious sensation, as if she were suddenly bankrupt--as if she were slipping back. Nebbins had written that he would come on the fourteenth, but she had a vague dread that he might turn up any day. She never let herself into Miss Pim's hall now that she did not glance apprehensively at the musty shadows of the parlor, fearing to see the brisk red-headed apparition of Josh Nebbins. Doctor Lampson returned the end of February and she went to his office for news of Garry. But at the sight of her, pale and restless, he had exclaimed: "Great heavens! What have you been doing? You look like the ghost of yourself!" "I've been worrying," she said quickly. "Don't! Does no good! Besides, Garry's all right: he's coming out of it with flying colors! Hello! I almost forgot. Here's a letter for you," he added, with a twinkle in his eyes. Doré took the letter, holding it without opening it. "How long will he stay?" she asked quietly. "I rather think he'll turn up here before the tenth," said Lampson, still enjoying his joke. "He ought to stay longer, doctor!" she said, with a sinking feeling. "Of course, but he won't! I can't imagine what it is; he seems to be fond of that date." "It's my birthday!" she said, gazing at the rug, longing to take him into her confidence.