"Always carry my own, thanks," said Julia, brandishing the
cigarette-case she had produced.

The sudden movement she had made gave Marie a curious sensation; Julia
and the room and the red fire swam around her; her brain was numb and
dizzy; she staggered and caught at her chair-back.

"Oh!" she gasped. "I feel so--so--"

"What?" exclaimed the other girl, springing up.

Marie sank into her chair.

"I was so giddy--and faint, Julia."

Julia drew her chair close to Marie's, put down her yet unlighted
cigarette, and looked at her friend shrewdly.

"Look here, kiddy," she began, with a softness Marie had never heard
in her voice before. Then she stopped and asked: "Where's the brandy?"

"There isn't any," said Marie in a far-away voice; "there's only
Osborn's whisky, and that's horrid. I'll be all right soon. Make the
coffee, dear, will you? And make it strong."

Julia not only made the coffee strong, but she made it very quickly;
she had a wonderfully quiet, efficient way of accomplishing things.
The coffee stimulated Marie and steadied the erratic beating of her
heart.