poke in that tone.

"Well?" he said; and his voice told her, on her side, that he was on the
defensive.

"Cecil--your feeling is right. I mean I hear in your voice that you
feel I am going to say something that will be painful. But it's ... it's
my love for you that makes me say it. You'll believe that, won't you?"

He kept his eyes narrowed and fixed on her. The look was so like his
mother's in certain moods that she felt her heart sink.

"Well," he said again, "get it over whatever it is."

She held his hand tight. It was as if she, not he, were drowning, and
she clung to his hand for succour--not to give it. He felt that she held
her breath for an instant. Then she said, very low, her eyes imploring
him:

"My dear, when you were ill yesterday, I had to send for a doctor."

He jerked his hand away so violently that he dragged her forward on to
her knees beside the bed. She stayed herself against it, never taking
her eyes from his face.

"You--did _what_?" he said in a fierce whisper.

"Oh, Cecil!... Don't look at me like that. Don't look at me with such
cruel eyes. You seemed dying--you were unconscious for hours. What else
could I do? Be just--tell me that. What else could I have done?"

He was thinking like lightning. Thoughts zigzagged against the black
cloud of anger in his mind in fiery flashes--clear as they were swift.
How much had this doctor guessed--or known? What had he said? How much
did Sophy know? What role would it be best for him to play? He had long
dreaded this contingency. He knew that sometimes he overdosed himself
with the drug. There were blank spaces in his life--gaps which he could
not fill in with any sequence of events, try as he might. What had
happened? What had he himself said or done? Had he left the hypodermic
syringe where she could see it? Had Gaynor turned disloyal? One bit of
clear reason rose dominant above the chaos of surmise. He must appear
calm, no matter how violent the tumult of his secret self. He must
remain passive until some cue was given him, then act out consistently
the part that seemed best suited to the occasion. He closed his eyes for
a moment. When he opened them their expression was no longer furious.

"You must excuse me, Sophy," he said rather formally. "I think you must
be able to imagine the shock it was to me to hear that you had called in
one of those dirty fakirs, knowing as you do my opinion of the
fraternity."

He heard the breath that she ha