ngarian Rhapsody. And this girl,
too, she thought, was expectant and disappointed! They shut their doors
simultaneously, she and May, who also had her girlish moments. Then the
rhapsody recommenced.

'Oh, madam!' screamed the maid, almost tumbling into the boudoir.

'What is it?' May demanded with false calm.

The maid lifted the corner of her black apron to her eyes, as though she
had been a stage soubrette in trouble.

'The master, madam! He's fell out of his cab--just in front of the
mansions--and they're bringing him in--such blood I never did see!'

The maid finished with hysterics.

III

'And them just off their honeymoon!'

The inconsolable tones of the lady's-maid came from the kitchen to the
open door of the bedroom, where May was giving instructions to the
elderly cook.

'Send that girl out of the flat this moment!' May said.

'Yes, ma'am.'

'Make the beef-tea in case it's wanted, and let me have some more warm
water. There's John and the doctor!'

She started at a knock.

'No, it's only the postman, ma'am.'

Some letters danced on the hall floor and on her nerves.

'Oh dear!' May whispered. 'I thought it was the doctor at last.'

'John's bound to be back with one in a minute, ma'am. Do bear up,' urged
the cook, hurrying to the kitchen.

She could have destroyed the woman for those last words.

With the proud certainty of being equal to the dreadful crisis, she
turned abruptly into the bedroom, where her husband lay insensible on
one of the new beds. Assisted by the policemen and the cook, she had
done everything that could be done: cut away the coats and the
waistcoat, removed the boots, straightened the limbs, washed the face
and neck--especially the neck--which had to be sponged continually, and
scattered messengers, including John, over the vicinity in search of
medical aid. And now the policemen had gone, the general emotion on the
staircase had subsided, the front-door of the flat was shut. The great
ocean of the life of the mansions had closed smoothly upon her little
episode. She was alone with the shattered organism.

She bent fondly over the bed, and her Paris frock, and the black scarf
which she had not removed, touched its ruinous burden. Her right hand
directed the sponge with ineffable tenderness, and then the long thin
fingers tightened to a frenzied clutch to squeeze it over the basin. The
whole of her being was absorbed in a deep passion of pity and an
intolerable