uncomfortable looking omnibusses; and the quaint, Swiss-chalet-like structure marking a station on the elevated railway, to be seen traversing the wide thoroughfare on the left. I was fascinated. We crossed the street and found ourselves in front of an enormous, ponderous, gray hotel. A large portico stretched from the entrance to this building, and afforded a standing place for a score or so of men, apparently bent upon ogling passers-by, who unfortunately could not avoid passing them.
I hate a congregation of men, anywhere, so I walked quickly past this group and stopped before I reached the corner to allow Arthur to come up with me. I turned. He was not by my side. He was standing in front of the portico gazing into the lobby. As I waited, he approached me, and I was startled as I looked at his face.
It was livid, and he was trembling violently.
"I am ill, Elsie," he said, quickly. "I must be ill. Perhaps it is my heart. I—I think so. Let us go home."
He looked ill indeed. I told myself that it
