She roused herself a little, and looked at him again. "Why do you call me that?" she asked, confusedly. "My name is Rosamond, Rosamond Curwood." "I know, dear," he replied, gently. "But you were called Mary on the stage. Try to remember. Mary Blake. That was the name you used. Can't you----" She shook her head, slowly, wearily. "Don't--don't confuse me," she said. "I can remember that my name is Rosamond Curwood. It's all I can remember. Don't take that away from me." But Donald could not give up. Again and again he tried to call back to her remembrance something out of the past. But she only shook her head, blankly, becoming more and more troubled and uncertain, until at last he dared not go on. With a hopeless gesture he rose to his feet, and before he had reached the door, she had relapsed into the old position, her eyes staring absently before her. In passing, Donald made a sign to Mrs. Shultze, and together they left the room, softly closing the door upon the sad and apparently hopeless figure. Without a word, O'Malley put his kind old hand under Morris's arm, and realizing the young man's need of physical as well as moral support, he led him quickly down the stairs, Mrs. Shultze following close behind. As soon as they reached the ground floor O'Malley said: "There's just one thing to be done, Mr. Morris, and the quicker, the better. What we want is a doctor--an alienist"--he felt Donald wince--"I know it's hard, but it's got to be faced. And you know there's always hope in a case of this kind. Most of 'em recover sooner or later, I think. But we want a specialist, the best in town, and I would suggest----" "Stevens," Donald interrupted, with eagerness. "I'd rather have John Stevens than any one else." "The very man I was thinking of," agreed O'Malley. "There's nobody like him in the country." "And he's a personal friend of mine, too," said Donald. "There's hardly anything we wouldn't do for each other, and----" "Got a telephone here?" O'Malley turned sharply to Mrs. Shultze, who had been silently listening. "Oh, yes, sir. Just at the back of the hall." She pointed, and O'Malley started toward the instrument which could be dimly seen in the shadow of the stair. Donald checked him. "It would be better for me. It's late, but he'll come for me," he said, and went quickly to the telephone. While he was talking, Mrs. Shultze came up close to O'Malley, and spoke in a soft, wheedling voice. "You won't let Mr. Morris forget that it was me that found Miss Blake for him, will you?" she said. "A gentleman like him would be sure to be grateful, I should think. And there's the matter of a week's rent, too. Of course, there's no hurry about it, now I know who her friends are, but you'll see he doesn't forget, like an old dear, won't you? I'd hate to be speaking to him myself, when the poor young man's in such trouble and all."