goodness! here's Mrs. Forster coming up.
Whatll she think of you if you keep moaning like that? Mrs. Forster:
will you step in here and try to quiet her a bit? She's clean mad."

"Come here," cried Susanna, as Marian entered. "Come and sit beside me.
You may get out, you old cat: I dont want you any longer."

"Hush, pray," said Marian, putting her bonnet aside and sitting down by
the sofa. "What is the matter?"

"The same as last night, only a great deal worse," said Susanna,
shutting her eyes and turning her head aside. "It's all up with me this
time, Mrs. Ned. I'm dying, not of drink, but of the want of it. Is that
fiend of a woman gone?"

"Yes. You ought not to wound her as you did just now. She has been very
kind to you."

"I dont care. Oh, dear me, I wonder how long this is going to last?"

"Shall I go for the doctor?"

"No; what can he do? Stay with me. I wish I could sleep or eat."

"You will be better soon. The doctor says that Nature is making an
effort to rescue you from your habit by making it impossible for you to
drink. Try and be patient. Will you not take off those heavy boots?"

"No, I cant feel my feet without them. I shall never be better," said
Susanna, writhing impatiently. "I'm done for. How old are you? You
neednt mind telling me. I shall soon be beyond repeating it."

"I was twenty-five in June last"

"I am only twenty-nine. I started at eighteen, and got to the top of the
tree in seven years. I came down quicker than I went up. I might have
gone on easily for fifteen years more, only for drinking champagne. I
wish I had my life to live over again: you wouldnt catch me playing
burlesque. If I had got the chance, I know I could have played tragedy
or real Italian opera. I had to work hard at first; and they wont fill
my place, very readily: thats one comfort. My cleverness was my ruin.
Ned was not half so quick. It used to take him months to learn things
that I picked up offhand, and yet you see how much better he has done
than I."

"Do not disturb yourself with vain regrets. Think of something else.
Shall we talk about Marmaduke?"

"No, I dont particularly care to. Somehow, at my pass, one thinks most
about one's self, and about things that happened long ago. People that I
came to know later on, like Bob, seem to be slipping away from me. There
was a baritone in my father's company, a tremendous man, with shining
black eyes, and a voice like a great bell--quite pretty at the top,