rson, but always, towards sunset,
I had a vague sense of melancholy: I seemed always to have grown weaker;
morbid misgivings would come to me. On this particular evening there was
one such misgiving that crept in and out of me again and again... a very
horrible misgiving as to the NATURE of what I had seen.

'Well, dressing for dinner is a great tonic. Especially if one shaves.
My spirits rose as I lathered my face. I smiled to my reflection in
the mirror. The afterglow of the sun came through the window behind
the dressing-table, but I had switched on all the lights. My new
silver-topped bottles and things made a fine array. To-night _I_ was
going to shine, too. I felt I might yet be the life and soul of the
party. Anyway, my new evening suit was without a fault. And meanwhile
this new razor was perfect. Having shaved "down," I lathered myself
again and proceeded to shave "up." It was then that I uttered a sharp
sound and swung round on my heel.

'No one was there. Yet this I knew: Stephen Braxton had just looked over
my shoulder. I had seen the reflection of his face beside mine--craned
forward to the mirror. I had met his eyes.

'He had been with me. This I knew.

'I turned to look again at that mirror. One of my cheeks was all covered
with blood. I stanched it with a towel. Three long cuts where the razor
had slipped and skipped. I plunged the towel into cold water and held it
to my cheek. The bleeding went on--alarmingly. I rang the bell. No one
came. I vowed I wouldn't bleed to death for Braxton. I rang again. At
last a very tall powdered footman appeared--more reproachful-looking
than sympathetic, as though I hadn't ordered that dressing-case
specially on his behalf. He said he thought one of the housemaids would
have some sticking-plaster. He was very sorry he was needed downstairs,
but he would tell one of the housemaids. I continued to dab and to
curse. The blood flowed less. I showed great spirit. I vowed Braxton
should not prevent me from going down to dinner.

'But--a pretty sight I was when I did go down. Pale but determined, with
three long strips of black sticking-plaster forming a sort of Z on my
left cheek. Mr. Hilary Maltby at Keeb. Literature's Ambassador.

'I don't know how late I was. Dinner was in full swing. Some servant
piloted me to my place. I sat down unobserved. The woman on either side
of me was talking to her other neighbour. I was near the Duchess' end of
the table. Soup was served