Teresa came to the studio. She hesitated a few moments, then scribbled a note and dropped it through the letter-slit, went down and found a cab, and gave the address of Gerald's lodging, taken" from the newspaper account. The place was a cheap boarding-house, near one of the small squares in the lower part of the city. It was a broiling day, and the odours of poverty assailed Teresa's senses as she got out at the door and after some argument was admitted. In one of Gerald's two rooms she found a chattering group of women. One of them, red eyed and flushed, a tall, robust girl, who had answered her knock, seemed to be the mistress of the place. To her, Teresa, half dazed, said she was Gerald's friend, gave her name, and was ushered into the room, where the other women, silent now, stared at her curiously. The tall girl began to pour out a flood of self-pitying explanations, mixed with tears.
It had happened the day before. He had taken the time when she, Annette, was away at rehearsal. He had written her a letter, which the police had taken, telling her what he meant to do, giving directions about his funeral, and saying that she was to take whatever possessions he left. The letter had been brought to her by a messenger, and she had come back and found him dead. He had shot himself through the heart, lying on the bed. He had been ill for
