"Ah, sir, I 'ave, then. 'Ee don't 'ave them so frequent like before he
begun to travel, but hevery wunst in a while 'ee will be terrible for
two hor three days; but I never see hanything like this before, heven
at Crumford 'All. 'Ee 'as never spoke for a week; not since the night
of the ball hat the Russian Legation."

"By Jove! you don't mean it. I thought he was on a 'private tear,' as
the Americans say; but I don't like this at all. Just clear out, and
I'll be dressed and over in his rooms in less than half an hour." And
he sprang out of bed before Jones had closed the door.

He was but a few moments dressing, as he had promised, and was at
Dartmouth's apartment before Jones had time to become impatient,
nervous as he was. He pulled aside the portière of the salon and
looked in. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark, but on a
sofa near the window he saw his friend lying. He picked his way over
through the studiously disordered furniture and touched Dartmouth on
the shoulder.

"Hal!" he said, "Hal!"

Dartmouth opened his eyes and looked up. "Is it you, Becky?" he
said, languidly. "Go away and let me alone." But his words and manner
indicated that the attack was at last "wearing itself out."

"I will do nothing of the sort," replied Hollington. "Get up off that
sofa this moment. A week! I am ashamed of you. What would the old lady
say?"

"She would understand," murmured Dartmouth. "She always understood. I