of linoleum aten woodwork.

    Then, suddehere, the room was filled with the stro  came as upo of wind with suess and fragrahat it almost seemed a living visitant. And the man cried aloud: "What, dear?" as

    if he had been d sprang up a. The rich  to him and ed him arou his arms for it, all his sehe time fused and ingled. How e be peremptorily called by an odour? Surely it must have been a sound. But, was it hat had touched, that had caressed him?

    "She has been in this room," he d he spra from it a token, for he knew he w thing that had belo she had touched. This envelopi of mighe odour that she had loved and made her ow?

    The room had been but carelessly set iered upon the flimsy dresser scarf were half a dozen hairpi,indistinguishable friends of womankind, feminine of gender, infinite of mood and unuehese he ignored, scious of

    their triumphant latity. Ransag the drawers of the dresser he  a discarded, tiny, ragged handkerchief. He pressed it to his face. It was rasolerope; he hurled it to the floor. In another drawer he found odd buttore programme, a pawnbroker's arshmallows, a book oiohe last was a woman's bla hair bow, which halted him, poised between id fire. But the bla hairbow also is femininity's demure, impersonal, eales.

    Araversed the room like a hou, skimming the walls, g the ers of the bulging matting on his hands and knees, rummagiables, the s and hangngs, the dru in the er, for a visible sigo perceive that she was there beside