one turned the handle; in vain; tapped. 'Is that you, Arthur?'

For an instant Lawford paused, then like a child listening for an
echo, answered, 'Yes, Sheila.' And a sigh broke from him; his
voice, except for a little huskiness, was singularly unchanged.

'May I come in?' Lawford stood softly up and glanced once more
into the glass. His lips set tight, and a slight frown settled
between the long, narrow, intensely dark eyes.

'Just one moment, Sheila,' he answered slowly, 'just one moment.'

'How long will you be?'

He stood erect and raised his voice, gazing the while impassively
into the glass.

'It's no use,' he began, as if repeating a lesson, 'it's no use
your asking me, Sheila. Please give me a moment, a...I am not
quite myself, dear,' he added quite gravely.

The faintest hint of vexation was in the answer.

'What is the matter? Can't I help? It's so very absurd--'

'What is absurd?' he asked dully.

'Why, standing like this outside my own bedroom door. Are you
ill? I will send for Dr. Simon.'