, but, by Jove, you do
mighty well as a 'hanger-on'!"

What George's response was I could not hear, but from the dark flushed
look of his features, I judged that he had not received the attack with
his accustomed amiability. Then, as he was about to pass into the hall,
his eyes fell on me, standing behind the tub of azalea, and a low
whistle of surprise broke from his lips.

"So here you are, Ben! We'd given you up at least three hours ago."

"There was a wreck, and the train was delayed."

"Well, come in and do your duty, or what remains of it. It's no fun
acting host in another man's house, when you don't know where he keeps
his cigars. Sally, Ben's turned up, after all, at the last minute, when
the hard work is over."

Crossing the threshold, I joined the little group, shaking hands here
and there, while Sally made running comments in a voice that sounded
hopelessly animated and cheerful. She was looking very pale, there were
dark violet circles under her eyes, and her gown of some faint sea-green
shade brought out the delicate sharpened lines of her face and throat.
The flame, which had burnt so steadily for the last year, seemed to die
out slowly, in a waning flicker, while she stood there.

George, pushing me aside, came back with a glass of wine and a biscuit.

"Drink this, Sally," he said. "No, don't shake your head, drink it."

She held out her hand for the glass, but after she had taken it from
him, before she could raise it to her lips, a tremor of anguish that was
almost like a convulsion passed into her face. The glass fell from her
hand, and the wine, splashing over her gown, stained it in a red streak
from bosom to hem. Her figure swayed slightly, but when I reached out my
arms to catch her, she gazed straight beyond me, with eyes which had
grown wide and bright from some physical pain.

"George!" she said, "George!" and the name as she uttered it was an
appeal for help.

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE BLOW THAT CLEARS

Until dawn the doctor was with her, but in the afternoon, when I went
into her room, I found that she had got out of bed and was dressed for
motoring.

"Oh, I'm all right. There's nothing the matter with me except that I am
smothering for fresh air," she said almost irritably, in reply to my
remonstrances.

"But you are ill, Sally. You are as pale as a ghost."

She shook her head impatiently, and I noticed that the furs she wore
seemed to drag down her slender figure.

"Th