where his dissolute morning
appearance was still remembered against him.

"Go and change and come back and dine with me in an hour's time."

He obeyed the command with his usual meekness, and Zora followed the porter
through the subway to the hotel.

"We haven't dined together like this," she said, unfolding her napkin an
hour afterwards, "since Monte Carlo. Then it was hopelessly unconventional.
Now we can dine in the strictest propriety. Do you understand that you're
my brother-in-law?"

She laughed, radiant, curiously happy at being with him. She realized, with
a little shock of discovery, the restfulness that was the essential quality
of his companionship. He was a quiet haven after stormy seas; he
represented something intimate and tender in her life.

They spoke for a while of common things: her train journey, the crossing,
the wonders she had seen. He murmured incoherent sketches of his life in
Paris, the new gun, and Hegisippe Cruchot. But of the reason for his
summons he said nothing. At last she leaned across the table and said
gently:

"Why am I here, Septimus? You haven't told me."

"Haven't I?"

"No. You see, the little dog's tail brought me post-haste to you, but it
gave me no inkling why you wanted me so badly."

He looked at her in his scared manner.

"Oh, I don't want you at all; at least, I do--most tremendously--but not
for myself."

"For whom, then?"

"Clem Sypher," said Septimus.

She paled slightly, and looked down at her plate and crumbled bread. For a
long time she did not speak. The announcement did not surprise her. In an
inexplicable way it seemed natural. Septimus and Sypher had shared her
thoughts so oddly during her journey. An unaccountable shyness had checked
her impulse to inquire after his welfare. Indeed, now that the name was
spoken she could scarcely believe that she had not expected to hear it.

"What is the matter?" she asked at length.

"The Cure has failed."

"Failed?"

She looked up at him half incredulously. The very last letter she had
received from Sypher had been full of the lust of battle. Septimus nodded
gloomily.

"It was only a silly patent ointment like a hundred others, but it was
Sypher's religion. Now his gods have gone, and he's lost. It's not good for
a man to have no gods. I didn't have any once, and the devils came in. They
drove me to try haschisch. But it must have been very bad haschisch, for it
made me sick, and so I was saved."

"W