ed up the
stairs.

Roger gazed after her with eyes that shone. Then he put his hand to
his head and frowned again.

"Bring me a whisky and soda, will you, Chalmers?" he said. "I'll see
if that will do this beastly head any good."

The headache had not gone next morning, though it had subsided into a
duller sensation. His aunt at breakfast noticed that he had no
appetite, merely trifling with his grapefruit and tasting his coffee.
At once she inquired the reason, remarking at the same time that he had
not his usual healthy colour.

"Oh, it's nothing, Dido. I do feel a bit rotten."

"Does your head pain you?"

"A bit: I shall be all right presently."

He was annoyed to see apprehension cloud the old lady's eyes.

"My dear, don't begin bothering about me. Can't a person have a little
ordinary headache without----"

"I know, Roger, darling, only with your father and then Therese...
Don't you think you'd better see the doctor?"

"I see altogether too much of the doctor, thank you; wherever I go I
seem to run into him. He's a depressing brute."

"Don't be childish, Roger, that's only a manner."

"Well, it's a damned bad manner, and I'll look after my own headache if
it's just the same to you. It's not the first I've had. Got any
aspirin?"

"I've got something much better than aspirin--a new French preparation.
If you'll come upstairs I'll get it for you."

A little later, having managed to finish his coffee, he joined his aunt
in the boudoir, where he found her ineffectually trying to get a
stopper out of a bottle.

"It's a glass stopper, and absolutely refuses to budge. Why will they
make bottles that one can't open?"

"Give it to me. I'll put it under the hot tap."

"I've done that; it's no use."

"Then let's see what a lighted match will do."

He struck a match and held it under the neck of the bottle until a ring
of smoke appeared on the glass.

"Now, here goes."

He gave the stopper a sharp twist, there was a cracking sound, a cry
from Miss Clifford, and a pungent odour filled the room as the contents
of the bottle gushed over the carpet. The neck was broken away, and
the jagged glass had cut a deep, ugly gash across the base of Roger's
thumb. Blood welled up freely from the wound.

"Oh; how dreadful! I'm so distressed! What shall we do?"

The old lady gazed about distractedly, while her nephew regarded the
pool of blood forming in his hand.

"Get my handkerchief out of my t