The gradual transition from the glare and rush of the up-town streets to the sombre stillness of this ancient graveyard always seemed to him like the shifting of films upon a screen, a replacement of the city of the living by the city of the dead.

High up in the gloom soared the spire of the old church, its cross lost in shadows.

Still higher, their roofs melting into the dusky blue vault, rose the great office-buildings, crowding close as if ready to pounce upon the small space protected only by the sacred ashes of the dead.
For some time he sat motionless, listening to the muffled peals of the organ.

Then the humiliating events of the last twenty-four hours began crowding in upon his memory: the insolent demands of his landlady; the guarded questions of Kling when he inspected the dressing-case; the look of doubt on both their faces and the changes wrought in their manner and speech when they found he was able to pay his way.

Suddenly something which up to that moment he had held at bay gripped him.
"It was money, then, which counted," he said to himself, forgetting for the moment Kitty's refusal to take it.