Mr. Robert van Rensselaer drove on to the depot, where stood his private car; as he sped away to the city he first took something to drink, and then sat smoking and meditating until the depot was reached. Here he heard street voices: "Extra! Extra!" and bought a paper. He stepped into his automobile, with the word "Home," and then settled back to read the news. There was the whole scene of the conference, with the embellishments of the usual kind, and the story of the strike resolutions and the beginning of rioting. There were also some savage editorials—it was a "yellow" journal. Mr. Robert van Rensselaer read them and smiled.
He arrived at his residence,—which, it should be added, was no longer a little apartment, but a palatial mansion just a few blocks above the paternal one. As he was[41] still meditating about the strike, it was with a start that he came back to himself when the butler, who opened the door for him, remarked:—
"I beg pardon, sir. There's a lady in the parlor to see you."
Mr. van Rensselaer opened his eyes. "A lady?" he said.
"A lady, I presume, sir," said the butler.
"What's her name?"
"She didn't give any name, sir. She just said she must see you; and she would not take any refusal, sir."
"Humph!" said the other. "I'll go in."
And so in he went and gazed at the woman, who wore a heavy veil. She rose up and flung it aside, disclosing a face ghastly white, and so like a death's head that the other started back.
"Do you know me?" she asked.
"Er—no," said Mr. van Rensselaer.
"You really don't know me, Robbie?"
And then suddenly he gave a gasp, and cried, "Daisy!"
[42]"Yes," said the other, "Daisy."
They sat for a full minute gazing at each other: she at a well-filled face and waist-coat; he at a trembling skeleton.
"Well?" said he, suddenly; "what do you want?"
"Nothing much," she replied. "I'm dying, you know, Robbie."
"What's the matter?" asked he.
"Consumption."
"Humph! It's been a long time. What have you been doing?"
"I've been living up north—in Albany. I took another n............