'm tired of waiting, Pierre," I said, as distinctly and emphatically as
I could, like a man determined to be sober in spite of wine; "I'm afraid
something has happened to my father--he's usually so punctual. Run to
the Hotel des Bergues and see if he is there."

Pierre left the room at once, with a soothing "Bien, Monsieur"; and I
felt the better for this scene of simple, waking prose. Seeking to calm
myself still further, I went into my bedroom, adjoining the _salon_, and
opened a case of eau-de-Cologne; took out a bottle; went through the
process of taking out the cork very neatly, and then rubbed the reviving
spirit over my hands and forehead, and under my nostrils, drawing a new
delight from the scent because I had procured it by slow details of
labour, and by no strange sudden madness. Already I had begun to taste
something of the horror that belongs to the lot of a human being whose
nature is not adjusted to simple human conditions.

Still enjoying the scent, I returned to the salon, but it was not
unoccupied, as it had been before I left it. In front of the Chinese
folding-screen there was my father, with Mrs. Filmore on his right hand,
and on his left--the slim, blond-haired girl, with the keen face and the
keen eyes fixed on me in half-smiling curiosity.

"Well, Latimer, you thought me long," my father said . . .

I heard no more, felt no more, till I became conscious that I was lying
with my head low on the sofa, Pierre, and my father by my side. As soon
as I was thoroughly revived, my father left the room, and presently
returned, saying--

"I've been to tell the ladies how you are, Latimer. They were waiting in
the next room. We shall put off our shopping expedition to-day."

Presently he said, "That young lady is Bertha Grant, Mrs. Filmore's
orphan niece. Filmore has adopted her, and she lives with them, so you
will have her for a neighbour when we go home--perhaps for a near
relation; for there is a tenderness between her and Alfred, I suspect,
and I should be gratified by the match, since Filmore means to provide
for her in every way as if she were his daughter. It had not occurred to
me that you knew nothing about her living with the Filmores."

He made no further allusion to the fact of my having fainted at the
moment of seeing her, and I would not for the world have told him the
reason: I shrank from the idea of disclosing to any one what might be
regarded as a pitiable peculiarity, most