to you and persuade him to tell you the history of his case... I
don't know whether he'll go. I'm doing my best. He's here in my
library.... Oh, no, he isn't intoxicated now, but he was yesterday.
And oh, Doctor! He is so shaky and he seems so ill--I mean in mind
and spirit more than in body.... Yes, he says he needs something....
What?... Give him some whisky if he wants it?... Do you mean a
highball?... How many?... Oh... Yes... Yes, I understand ... I'll do
my very best.... Thank you. ... At three o'clock?... Thank you so
much, Doctor Langford. Good-bye!"

She hung up the receiver, took a look at herself in the
dressing-glass, and saw reflected there a yellow-haired hazel-eyed
girl who looked a trifle scared. But she forced a smile, made a
hasty toilette and rang for the butler, gave her orders, and then
walked leisurely into the library. McKay lifted his tragic face from
his hands where he stood before the fire, his elbows resting on the
mantel.

"Come," she said in her pretty, resolute way, "you and I are
perfectly human. Let's face this thing together and find out what
really is in it."

She took one armchair, he the other, and she noticed that all his
frame was quivering now--his hands always in restless, groping
movement, as though with palsy. A moment later the butler came with
a decanter, ice, mineral water and a tall glass. There was also a
box of cigars on the silver tray.

"You'll fix your own highball," she said carelessly, nodding
dismissal to the butler. But she looked only once at McKay, then