'Know? Why--Tell me, do you think you can carry him to his room?' 'Me? Oh, easy! Why he doesn't weigh much of anything. Just look!' 'Then come. Quickly. Keep very quiet.' Slowly, painstakingly, he followed her up the stairs and along the upper hall to an open door. 'Wait!' she whispered. 'I'll have to turn on the light.' He laid the limp figure on the bed. Outside, in the still night, the horses stirred and stamped. A voice--the cabman's--cried,-- 'Whoa there, you! Whoa!' Cicely turned with a start. 'Oh, why can't he keep still!... You--you'd better go. I don't know why you're so kind. Those others would never----' 'Please!--You _do_ know!' This remark appeared to add to her distress. She made a quick little gesture. 'Oh, no, I don't mean--not that I want you to----' 'Not so loud! Quick! Please go!' 'But it's so terribly hard for you. I can't bear--I can't bear to think of your having to--people just mustn't know about it, that's all! We've got to do something. She mustn't--You see, I love you, and.... Their eyes met. A deep dominating voice came from the doorway. 'You had better go to your room, Cicely,' it said. They turned like guilty children. Cicely flushed, then quietly went. Madame was a strange spectacle. She wore a quilted maroon robe, which she held clutched together at her throat. Most of the hair that was usually piled and coiled about her head had vanished; what little remained was surprisingly gray and was twisted up in front and over the ears in curl papers of the old-fashioned kind. Henry lowered his gaze; it seemed indelicate to look at her. He discovered then that he was still wearing his hat, and took it off with a low, wholly nervous laugh that was as surprising to himself as it certainly was, for a moment, to Madame Watt, who surveyed him under knit brows before centring her attention on the unconscious figure on the bed. 'We owe you a great deal,' she said then. 'It was awkward enough. But it might have been a disaster. You've saved us from that.' 'Oh, it was nothing,' murmured Henry, blushing. 'Are you sure no one saw? You didn't take him to the station?' 'No. We drove straight out.' 'Hm! When you came did you ring our bell?' 'Me? Why, no. I was going to. But----' 'Yes?' 'She--your--Miss----' 'Do you mean Cicely?' 'Yes. She opened the door.' Madame frowned again. 'But what on earth----' Henry interrupted, looking up at her now. 'I'll tell you. I know. I can see it. And somebody's got to tell you.' Madame looked mystified. 'She couldn't bear to have you know. She was afraid you----' Madame raised her free hand. 'We won't go into that.' 'But we _must_. It was your temper she was----' 'We wont----' 'You _must_ listen! Can't you see the dread she lives under--the fear that you'll forget yourself and people will know! And can't you see what it drives--him--to? I heard him talk when he was telling his real thoughts. I know.' 'Oh, you do!'