It begins with that queer piccolo solo. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. And because he knew it was a burden, there was no gaiety upon the doctor's face; neither was there speech on his tongue. He might not condone it, but the feelings that had prompted it augured well for Melusine’s safety. “It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends. ” He looked at her thoughtfully. What could she do? Reluctantly, at a second curt command, she began to step across the uncarpeted floor, her eyes never leaving the threatening pistol.
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