bashaw, for aught I knew--and placed
Constance comfortably in a huge easy chair of green leather.

Wardle brought some water, for Constance was in a fainting state still;
but I hurried him off again to look for bread and soup. Meantime I
lowered Constance to the floor, having just remembered that in such a
case the head should be kept low. Her face was positively deathly--lips,
cheeks, all alike gray-white, save for the purple hollows under both
eyes. One moment I was taking stock of these things, as a doctor might;
the next I was on my knees and kissing the nerveless hand at her side,
all worn and bruised and stained as it was from her ceaseless strivings
of the past week. I knew then that, for me, though I should live a
hundred years and Constance should never deign to speak to me again,
there was but one woman in the world.

I am afraid Wardle found me at the same employ; but, though I remember
vaguely resenting his fresh linen and normally smart appearance, he was
a good fellow, and knew when to seem blind. All he said was:

"Here's the soup!"

[Illustration: "I WAS ON MY KNEES AND KISSING THE NERVELESS HAND"]

He had brought a small wash-hand basin full to the brim, and a loaf of
warm, new bread. As the steam of the hot soup reached me, I realized
that I was a very hungry animal, whatever else I might be besides. It
may have been the steam of the soup that rallied Constance. I know that
within two minutes I was feeding her with it from a cracked teacup. It
is a wonderful thing to watch the effect of a few mouthfuls of hot soup
upon an exhausted woman, whose exhaustion is due as much to lack of food
as need of rest. There was no spoon, but the teacup, though cracked, was
clean, and I found a tumbler in a luxurious little cabinet near the
chair one felt was dedicated to the Fleet Street magnate whose room we
had invaded. A tumbler is almost as convenient to drink soup from as a
cup, but requires more careful manipulation when hot. If the side of the
tumbler becomes soupy, it can easily be wiped with the crumb of new
bread.

Wardle seemed to be as sufficiently nourished as he was neatly dressed;
but he found a certain vicarious pleasure, I think, in watching
Constance and myself at the bowl. We sat on the Turkey carpet, and used
the seat of the green chair as a table--a strange meal, in strange
surroundings; but a better I never had, before or since. There was a
physical gratification, a warmth and a comfort to