“I'm the janitor's wife,” said Mrs. Thropp. “My husband had to come up to see about the worter not running in the bathroom, and I came along to see Miss--the young lady. She's been awful good to me. Well, I'll be gettin' along. Good night, miss. Good night, sir.” To save herself, she could not think of Kedzie's screen name. To save her daughter's future, she disowned her. She pushed past Dyckman, and silencing the stupefied Adna with a glare, swept him out through the dining-room into the kitchen. It amazed Mrs. Thropp to find a kitchen so many flights up-stairs. The ingenuity of the devices, the step-saving cupboard, the dry ice-box with its coils of cold-air pipes, the gas-stove, the electric appliances, were like wonderful new toys to her. Adna was as comfortable as a cow in a hammock, and she would have sent him away, but his hat was in the hall and she dared not go for it. Besides, she wanted to wait long enough to learn the outcome of Kedzie's adventure with Dyckman. As soon as he was alone with Kedzie, Jim had taken her into his arms. She blushed with an unwonted timidity in a new sense of the forbiddenness of her presence there. Her upward glance showed her that Jim had been in trouble, too. His jaw had a mottled look, and one eyebrow was a trifle mashed. “What on earth has happened to you?” she gasped. “Oh, I had a little run-in with a fellow.” “What about?” said Kedzie. “Nothing much.” “He must have hurt you terribly.” “Think so? Well, you ought to see him.” “What was it all about?” “Oh, just a bit of an argument.” “Who was he?” “Nobody you know.” “You mean it's none of my business?” “I wouldn't put it that way, honey. I'd just rather not talk about it.” Kedzie felt rebuffed and afraid. He had spent an evening away from her and had reappeared with scars from a battle he would not describe. She would have been still more terrified if she had known that he had fought as the cavalier of Charity Coe Cheever. She would have been somewhat reassured if she had known that Jim smarted less under the bruises of Cheever's fists than under the rebuke he had had from Charity for his interference in her marital crisis. Jim was the more in need of Kedzie's devotion for being discarded again by Charity. The warmth in Kedzie's greeting was due to her fear of losing him. But he did not know that. He only knew that she was exceedingly cordial to him, and it was his nature to repay cordiality with usury. He noted, however, that Kedzie's warmth had an element of anxiety. He asked her what was worrying her, but she would not answer. At length he made his usual remark. It had become a sort of standing joke for him to say, “When do we marry?” She always answered, “Give me a little more time.” But to-night when he laughed, “Well, just to get the subject out of the way, when do we marry?” Kedzie did not make her regular answer. Her pretty face was suddenly darkened with pain. She moaned: “Never, I guess. Never, I'm afraid.”