It was Bella! Bella in a fur coat and a veil, with the most
tragic eyes I ever saw and entirely white except for a dab of
rouge in the middle of each cheek. We stared at each other
without speech. The maid turned and went down the hall, and with
that Bella came over to me and clutched me by the arm.

"Who was being carried out into that ambulance?" she demanded,
glaring at me with the most awful intensity.

"I'm sure I don't know, Bella," I said, wriggling away from her
fingers. "What in the world are you doing here? I thought you
were in Europe."

"You are hiding something from me!" she accused. "It is Jim! I
see it in your face."

"Well, it isn't," I snapped. "It seems to me, really, Bella, that
you and Jim ought to be able to manage your own affairs, without
dragging me in." It was not pleasant, but if she was suffering,
so was I. "Jim is as well as he ever was. He's upstairs
somewhere. I'll send for him."

She gripped me again, and held on while her color came back.

"You'll do nothing of the kind," she said, and she had quite got
hold of herself again. "I do not want to see him: I hope you
don't think, Kit, that I came here to see James Wilson. Why, I
have forgotten that there IS such a person, and you know it."

Somebody upstairs laughed, and I was growing nervous. What if