ows it away. "Go on."

_Ashley_: "I wasn't saying anything!"

_Miss Ramsey_: "Oh, I forgot. And I don't know what we were talking
about myself." She falls limply back into her chair and closes her
eyes.

_Ashley_: "Sha'n't I ring for the maid? I'm afraid--"

_Miss Ramsey_, imperiously: "Not at all. Not on any account." Far less
imperiously: "You may pour me a cup of tea if you like. That will make
me well. The full strength, please." She motions away the hot-water
jug with which he has proposed qualifying the cup of tea which he
offers her.

_Ashley_: "One lump or two?"

_Miss Ramsey_: "Only one, thank you." She takes the cup.

_Ashley_, offering the milk: "Cream?"

_Miss Ramsey_: "A drop." He stands anxiously beside her while she
takes a long draught and then gives back the cup. "That was perfect."

_Ashley_: "Another?"

_Miss Ramsey_: "No, that is just right. Now go on. Or, I forgot. You
were not going on. Oh dear! How much better I feel. There must have
been something poisonous in those cigarettes."

_Ashley_: "Yes, there was tobacco."

_Miss Ramsey_: "Oh, do you think it was the tobacco? Do throw the
whole box into the fire! I shall tell Bob never to get cigarettes with
tobacco in them after this. Won't you have one of the chocolates? Or a
mallow? I feel as if I should never want to eat anything again. Where
was I?" She rests her cheek against the side of her chair cushion, and
speaks with closed eyes, in a weak murmur. Mr. Ashley watches her at
first with anxiety, then with a gradual change of countenance until a
gleam of intelligence steals into his look of compassion.

_Ashley_: "You asked me to throw the cigarettes into the fire. But I
want you to let me keep them."

_Miss Ramsey_, with wide-flung eyes: "You? You said you wouldn't
smoke."

_Ashley_, laughing: "May I change my mind? One talks better." He
lights a cigarette. "And, Miss Ramsey, I believe I _will_ have a
cocktail, after all."

_Miss Ramsey_: "Mr. Ashley!"

_Ashley_, without noting her protest: "I had forgotten that I had a
corkscrew in my pocket-knife. Don't trouble yourself to ring for one."
He produces the knife and opens the bottle; then, as Miss Ramsey rises
and stands aghast, he pours out a glass and offers it to her, with
mock devotion. As she shakes her head and recoils: "Oh! I thought you
liked cocktails. They are very good after cigarettes--very reviving.
But if you won't--" He tosses off the cocktail and sets down th