"Poor boy! It's true, though."
"What does Osterhout know about it! He's no diagnostician. You must come to Baltimore and see Finney or Earle——"
"It's no use."
What Rathbone next said the listener could not make out, but Mona answered very gently:
"No, Sid, dear. Not again. That's all over. I couldn't now. You understand." And then the man's broken voice:
"Yes; I understand, dearest. But——"
"Oh, Sid! Please don't cry. I can't bear it."
Pat blundered on into the darkness, rather appalled. What in the name of bewilderment did that mean? Mr. Rathbone crying! And her mother's voice was so sad. Though she did not care much for her mother beyond a lively admiration of her charm and beauty, Pat experienced a distinct chill. It was followed by a surge of exultation; she was certainly seeing life to-night! And then came the climax. A blithe voice at her elbow said:
"Hello! Who are you?"