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dinner, but in a sixpenny reply Mrs. Jones can warn him that he had better do no such thing, that he ought to be ashamed of himself for thinking of it, that he must make some excuse to his friend, and that he will hear more of this when he gets home. Nell's 'Oh, Mary!' signified that chaos was come.

      Mary hastened round the table, and found her friend with a letter in her hand.

      'Well,' said Mary, 'that is one of your letters to Dick, is it not?'

      'Yes,' answered Nell tragically; 'but fancy his keeping my letters lying about carelessly in a drawer—and—and, yes, using them as scribbling paper!'

      Scrawled across the envelopes in a barely decipherable handwriting were such notes as these: 'Schoolboys smoking master's cane-chair, work up'; 'Return of the swallows (poetic or humorous?)'; 'My First Murder (magazine?)'; 'Better do something pathetic for a change.'

      There were tears in Nell's eyes.

      'This comes of prying,' said Mary.

      'Oh, I wasn't prying,' said Nell; 'I only opened it by accident. That is the worst of it. I can't say anything about them to him, because he might think I had opened his drawer to—to see what was in it—which is the last thing in the world I would think of doing. Oh, Mary,' she added woefully, 'what do you think?'

      'I think you are a goose,' said Mary promptly.

      'Ah, you are so indifferent,' Nell said, surrendering her position all at once. 'Now when I see a drawer I am quite unhappy until I know what is in it, especially if it is locked. When we lived opposite the Burtons I was miserable because they always kept the blind of one of their windows down. If I had been a boy I would have climbed up to see why they did it. Ah! that is Dick; I know his step.'

      She was hastening to the door, when she remembered the letters, and subsided primly into a chair.

      'Well?' asked Mary, as her brother re-entered with something in his hand.

      'The poor fellow has had a nasty accident,' said Dick; 'run over in the street, it seems. He ought to have been taken to the infirmary, but they got a letter with his address on it in his pocket, and brought him here.'

      'Has a doctor seen him?'

      'Yes, but I hardly make out from the housekeeper what he said. He was gone before I went up. There are some signs, however, of what he did. The poor fellow seems to have been struck on the head.'

      Mary shuddered, understanding that some operation had been found necessary.

      'Did he speak to you?' asked Nell.

      'He was asleep,' said Dick, 'but talking more than he does when he is awake.'

      'He must have been delirious,' said Mary.

      'One thing I can't make out,' Dick said, more to himself than to his companions. 'He mumbled my name to himself half a dozen times while I was upstairs.'

      'But is there anything remarkable in that,' asked Mary, 'if he has so few friends in London?'

      'What I don't understand,' explained Dick, 'is that the word I caught was Abinger. Now, I am quite certain that he only knew me as Noble Simms.'

      'Some one must have told him your real name,' said Mary. 'Is he asleep now?'

      'That reminds me of another thing,' said Dick, looking at the torn card in his hand. 'Just as I was coming away he staggered off the couch where he is lying to his desk, opened it, and took out this card. He glared at it, and tore it in two before I got him back to the couch.'

      There were tears in Nell's eyes now, for she felt that she understood it all.

      'It is horrible to think of him alone up there,' she cried. 'Let us go up to him, Mary.'

      Mary hesitated.

      'I don't think it would be the thing,' she said, taking the card from Nell's hand. She started slightly as she looked at it, and then became white.

      'What is his name, Dick?' she faltered, in a voice that made Nell look at her.

      'Angus,' said Dick. 'He has been on the Press here for some months.'

      The name suggested nothing at the moment to Nell, but Mary let the card fall. It was a shabby little Christmas card.

      'I think we should go up and see if we can do anything,' Dick's sister said.

      'But would it be the thing?' Nell asked.

      'Of course it would,' said Mary, a little surprised at Nell.

      Chapter XII.

       The Stupid Sex

       Table of Contents

      Give a man his chance, and he has sufficient hardihood for anything. Within a week of the accident Rob was in Dick Abinger's most luxurious chair, coolly taking a cup and saucer from Nell, while Mary arranged a cushion for his poor head. He even made several light-hearted jests, at which his nurses laughed heartily—because he was an invalid.

      Rob's improvement dated from the moment he opened his eyes and heard the soft rustle of a lady's skirts in the next room. He lay quietly listening, and realised by and by that he had known she was Mary Abinger all along.

      'Who is that?' he said abruptly to Dick, who was swinging his legs on the dressing-table. Dick came to him as awkwardly as if he had been asked to hold a baby, and saw no way of getting out of it. Sick-rooms chilled him.

      'Are you feeling better now, old fellow?' he asked.

      'Who is it?' Rob repeated, sitting up in bed.

      'That is my sister,' Dick said.

      Rob's head fell back. He could not take it in all at once. Dick thought he had fallen asleep, and tried to slip gently from the room, discovering for the first time as he did so that his shoes creaked.

      'Don't go,' said Rob, sitting up again. 'What is your sister's name?'

      'Abinger, of course, Mary Abinger,' answered Dick, under the conviction that the invalid was still off his head. He made for the door again, but Rob's arm went out suddenly and seized him.

      'You are a liar, you know,' Rob said feebly; 'she's not your sister.'

      'No, of course not,' said Dick, humouring him.

      'I want to see her,' Rob said authoritatively.

      'Certainly,' answered Dick, escaping into the other room to tell Mary that the patient was raving again.

      'I heard him,' said Mary.

      'Well, what's to be done?' asked her brother. 'He's madder than ever.'

      'Oh no, I think he's getting on nicely now,' Mary said, moving toward the bedroom.

      'Don't,' exclaimed Dick, getting in front of her; 'why, I tell you his mind is wandering. He says you're not my sister.'

      'Of course he can't understand so long as he thinks your name is Simms.'

      'But he knows my name is Abinger. Didn't I tell you I heard him groaning it over to himself?'

      'Oh, Dick,' said Mary, 'I wish you would go away and write a stupid article.'

      Dick, however, stood at the door, ready to come to his sister's assistance if Rob got violent.

      'He says you are his sister,' said the patient to Mary.

      'So I am,' said Mary softly. 'My brother writes under the name of Noble Simms, but his real name is Abinger. Now you must lie still and think about that; you are not to talk any more.'

      'I won't talk any more,' said Rob slowly. 'You are not going away, though?'

      'Just for a little while,' Mary answered. 'The doctor will be here presently.'

      'Well, you have quieted him,' Dick admitted.

      They

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