gled to make beef tea in the kitchen,
that lives had been wrecked on less.

Dal was allowed ten minutes in the sick room during the afternoon, and
he came out looking puzzled and excited. He refused to tell us what he
had learned, however, and the rest of the afternoon he and Jim spent in
the cellar.

The day dragged on. Downstairs people ate and read and wrote letters,
and outside newspaper men talked together and gazed over at the house
and photographed the doctors coming in and the doctors going out. As for
me, in the intervals of bringing things, I sat in Bella's chair in the
upper hall, and listened to the crackle of the nurse's starched skirts.

At midnight that night the doctors made a thorough examination. When
they came out they were smiling.

"He is doing very well," the younger one said--he was hairy and dark,
but he was beautiful to me. "He is entirely conscious now, and in about
an hour you can send the nurse off for a little sleep. Don't let him
talk."

And so at last I went through the familiar door into an unfamiliar room,
with basins and towels and bottles around, and a screen made of Jim's
largest canvases. And someone on the improvised bed turned and looked
at me. He did not speak, and I sat down beside him. After a while he put
his hand over mine as it lay on the bed.

"You are much better to me than I deserve," he said softly. And because
his eyes were disconcerting, I put an ice cloth over them.

"Much better than you deserve," I said, and patted the ice cloth to
place gently. He fumbled around until he found my hand again, and we
were quiet for a long time. I think he dozed, for he roused suddenly and
pulled the cloth from his eyes.

"The--the day is all confused," he said, turning to look at me,
"but--one thing seems to stand out from everything else. Perhaps it
was delirium, but I seemed to see that door over there open, and you,
outside, with--with Max. His arms were around you."

"It was delirium," I said softly. It was my final lie in that house of
mendacity.

He drew a satisfied breath, and lifting my hand, held it to his lips and
kissed it.

"I can hardly believe it is you," he said. "I have to hold firmly to
your hand or you will disappear. Can't you move your chair closer? You
are miles away." So I did it, for he was not to be excited.

After a little--

"It's awfully good of you to do this. I have been desperately sorry,
Kit, about the other night. It was a ruffianly thi