“No, it’s not the light; it’s the late hours,” said Mrs. Snow. “I did not want her to go to the ball, late hours knock her up for days. William shows the effect of it, too—his right hand is all swelled up. He says he doesn’t know how it got so, but I think it’s from dancing too much.” “Mother!” expostulated Miss Bertha. “Well, my dear, I don’t see why you speak to me like that. I’m not in my second childhood yet! I don’t know why he couldn’t get a swelled hand from dancing; some of these young girls are so athletic, they grip your fingers like a vise—I know _I_ find it very unpleasant. Don’t you remember—no, of course you don’t, but I do—how poor General Grant’s hand was puffed out to twice its size from people shaking it? The picture of it was in all the papers at the time.” “I don’t think William danced much,” said Ada. Mrs. Snow pursed her pale lips and shook her small, neat head. “All I know is that he was quite worn out; he slept so heavily that he never heard me at all when I rattled at his door-knob and called to him at three o’clock this morning that I thought I heard some one on the porch below his window. It’s very odd—I’ve heard it before. I don’t think it’s cats, and I’m so afraid of tramps.” The statuesque Ada looked up with a swiftly startled expression. “There are always tramps around,” said Mrs. Willetts. “Yes, I know it, and it worries me to have William out so late alone. William is nothing but a child, though he is so tall,” said Mrs. Snow. “Of course, last night his sisters were with him.” She paused before harking back to the appetizing theme. “They say Miss Linden is still staying at the Leverichs’. I shouldn’t think she’d stay there an hour longer than she could help. They say Mrs. Alexander refused to have her back again at first—did you hear that? They say——” And in Dosia’s room, where she lay alone, the long, silent day wore on; the gray clouds shifted, shifted above. What had happened? Nothing—and everything. If Leverich was to keep his word about Lawson, the preparations for his departure must be speedy. They also took money. Leverich could contract for any amount of expenditure to be paid in the future by large drafts, but to hand over five hundred on the minute in cash was at certain times and hours an irritatingly difficult procedure. He cursed the necessity now, with a fervor born of the disastrous ball, and the late hours, and the further fact that stocks had gone down suddenly and he was out on a deal. The gray clouds meant also, in the city, clouds of dust, which the raw wind swept smartingly into his eyes every time he had occasion to go out. As he was getting ready at last to go home with the purchased tickets, he looked up and saw Justin coming in. Leverich nodded to the other’s greeting, but did not otherwise return it. “I won’t ask you to sit down,” he said curtly; “I want to catch the four-o’clock train out. How are you getting on? All right?” “All wrong.” “What’s the matter?”