I have
come purely on business. We will not wander further."

There was a pause. Mrs. Sewall was tapping her bag with a rapid, nervous
little motion. I was keeping my hands folded tightly in my lap. We were
both making an effort to control our feelings. We sat opposite each
other without saying anything for a moment. It was I who spoke at last.

"Very well," I resumed. "What is the business, Mrs. Sewall? Perhaps," I
suggested coldly, "I have failed to return something that belongs to
you."

"No," replied Mrs. Sewall. "On the contrary, I have something here that
belongs to _you_." She held up a package. "Your work-bag. It was found
by the butler on the mantel in the library."

"Oh, how careless! I'm sorry. It was of no consequence." My cheeks
flamed. It hurt me keenly that Mrs. Sewall should insult the dignity of
our relations by a matter so trivial. My work-bag indeed! Behind her, in
the desk, were a few sheets of her stationery!

I rose and took the bag. "Thank you," I said briefly.

"Not at all," she replied.

I waited a moment. Then, as she did not move, I inquired, "Shall I call
your maid, or will you allow me to take you to your car?"

Mrs. Sewall did not reply. I became aware of something unnatural in her
attitude. I noticed her tightly clasped hands.

"Oh, Mrs. Sewall!" I exclaimed. She was ill. I was sure of it now. She
was deathly pale. I kneeled down on the floor and took her hands. "You
are not well. Let me help--please. You are in pain."

She spoke at last. "Call Marie," she ordered, and drew her hands away.

I sped down to the waiting car. Marie seemed to comprehend before I
spoke.

"Oh! Another attack! Mon Dieu! The tablets! I have them. They are here.
Make haste. It is the heart. They are coming more often--the attacks.
Emotion--and then afterwards the pain. She had one yesterday, late in
the afternoon. And now tonight again. Mon Dieu--Mon Dieu! The pain is
terrible." All this from Marie as we hastened up the stairs.

Mrs. Sewall sat just where I had left her in the straight-backed chair.
She made no outcry, not the slightest moan, but there were tiny beads of
perspiration on her usually cool brow, and when she took the glass of
water that I offered, her hand shook visibly. She would not lie down.
She would have nothing unfastened. She would not allow me to touch her.

"No, no. Marie understands. No. Kindly allow Marie. Come, Marie. Hurry.
Stop flying about so. I'm not going to die. Hurry