Wood. The ladies can't sleep in their beds for him; and as to the men, they daren't go to bed at all. I know in Paris you pinched and scraped that your sister might have the dresses and entertainments she desired. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. She realized that he was the sort of man one does not think much about at dinners. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. Through an open door was a glimpse of the bathroom—a vision of luxury, out of which Annabel herself, in a wonderful dressing-gown and followed by a maid presently appeared. He was tender with her as he had not been in years. . “Do you need me to remind you that your patient is bleeding to death?” He dropped on his knees by the man’s side and made a hurried examination. .
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