It was a condition which the wise had long predicted, and Ella, not so wise, had dreaded. And then one day the young artist had come to her with an oblong slip of paper, and an incoherent story of somebody being willing to lend her money if Ella would sign her name; and Ella Grant, to whom finance was an esoteric mystery, had cheerfully complied.

    "If you were a great heiress, or you were expecting a lot of money coming to you through the death of a relative," persisted Jack, with a frown, "I could understand Isaacs being satisfied with your acceptance, but you aren't!"

    Ella laughed softly and shook her head.

    "The only relative I have in the world is poor dear Uncle Chartres, who loathes me! I used to loathe him too, but I've got over that. After daddy died I lived with him for a few months, but we quarrelled over—over—well, I won't tell you what it was about, because I am sure he was sorry. I had a fiendish temper as a child, and I threw a knife at him."

    "Good Lord!" gasped Jack, staring at her.

    She nodded solemnly.

    "I did—so you see there is very little likelihood of Uncle Chartres, who is immensely rich, leaving me anything more substantial than the horrid weapon with which I attempted to slay him!"

    Jack was silent. Isaacs was a professional moneylender… he was not a philanthropist.

    When Ella got home that night she determined to perform an unpleasant duty. She had not forgotten Jack Freeder's urgent insistence upon her seeing Stephanie Boston—she had simply avoided the unpalatable.

    Stephanie's flat was on the first floor; her own was immediately above. She considered for a long time before she pressed the bell.

    Grace, Stephanie's elderly maid, opened the door, and her eyes were red with recent weeping.

    "What is the matter?" asked Ella in alarm.

    "Come in, miss," said the servant miserably. "Miss Boston left a letter for you."

    "Left?" repeated Ella wonderingly. "Has she gone away?"

    "She was gone when I came this morning. The bailiffs have been here…"

    Ella's heart sank.

    The letter was short but eminently lucid:

    "I am going away, Ella. I do hope that you will forgive me. That

    wretched bill has become due and I simply cannot face you again. I

    will work desperately hard to repay you, Ella."

    The girl stared at the letter, not realizing what it all meant. Stephanie had gone away!

    "She took all her clothes, miss. She left this morning, and told the porter she was going into the country; and she owes me three weeks' wages!"

    Ella went upstairs to her own flat, dazed and shaken. She herself had no maid; a woman came every morning to clean the flat, and Ella had her meals at a neighboring restaurant.

    As she made the last turn of the stairs she was conscious that there was a man waiting on the landing above, with his back to her door. Though she did not know him, he evidently recognized her, for he raised his hat. She had a dim idea that she had seen him somewhere before, but for the moment could not recollect the circumstances.

    "Good evening, Miss Grant," he said amiably. "I think we have met before. Miss Boston introduced me—name of Higgins."

    She shook her head.

    "I am afraid I don't remember you," she said, and wondered whether his business was in connection with Stephanie's default.

    "I brought the paper up that you signed about three months ago."

    Then she recalled him and went cold.

    "Mr. Isaacs didn't want to make any kind of trouble," he said. "The bill became due a week ago and we have been trying to get Miss Boston to pay. As it is, it looks very much as though you will have to find the money."

    "When?" she asked in dismay.

    "Mr. Isaacs will give you until to tomorrow night," said the man. "I have been waiting here since five o'clock to see you. I suppose it is convenient, miss?"

    Nobody knew better than Mr. Isaacs' clerk that it would be most inconvenient, not to say impossible, for Ella Grant to produce four hundred pounds.

    "I will write to Mr. Isaacs," she said, finding her voice at last.

    She sat down in the solitude and dusk of her flat to think things out. She was overwhelmed, numbed by the tragedy. To owe money that she could not pay was to Ella Grant an unspeakable horror.

    There was a letter in the letter-box.