octor's arm to the
balcony where tea was to be served to them.

She came down to find her world revolutionized.

On the table in the balcony the letters had been lying convenient to his
chair and he--it may be without troubling to read the address, had
seized the uppermost and torn it open.

He was holding that letter now a little crumpled in his hand.

She had walked close up to the table before she realized the change. The
little eyes that met hers were afire with hatred, his lips were white
and pressed together tightly, his nostrils were dilated in his struggle
for breath. "I knew it," he gasped.

She clung to her dignity though she felt suddenly weak within. "That
letter," she said, "was addressed to me."

There was a gleam of derision in his eyes.

"Look at it!" he said, and flung it towards her.

"My private letter!"

"Look at it!" he repeated.

"What right have you to open my letter?"

"Friendship!" he said. "Harmless friendship! Look what your--friend
says!"

"Whatever there was in my letter----"

"Oh!" cried Sir Isaac. "Don't come _that_ over me! Don't you try it!
Oooh! phew--" He struggled for breath for a time. "He's so harmless.
He's so helpful. He----Read it, you----"

He hesitated and then hurled a strange word at her.

She glanced at the letter on the table but made no movement to touch it.
Then she saw that her husband's face was reddening and that his arm
waved helplessly. His eyes, deprived abruptly of all the fury of
conflict, implored assistance.

She darted to the French window that opened into the dining-room from
the balcony. "Doctor Greve!" she cried. "Doctor Greve!"

Behind her the patient was making distressful sounds. "Doctor Greve,"
she screamed, and from above she heard the Bavarian shouting and then
the noise of his coming down the stairs.

He shouted some direction in German as he ran past her. By an
inspiration she guessed he wanted the nurse.

Miss Summersley Satchell appeared in the doorway and became helpful.

Then everyone in the house seemed to be converging upon the balcony.

It was an hour before Sir Isaac was in bed and sufficiently allayed for
her to go to her own room. Then she thought of Mr. Brumley's letter, and
recovered it from the table on the balcony where it had been left in the
tumult of her husband's seizure.

It was twilight and the lights were on. She stood under one of them and
read with two moths circling about her....

Mr. Brumley had