He gasped for breath a moment, staggered, reeled, collapsed ... and within the moment, so quickly did all happen, he was aware of hands that supported him and helped him to his feet. But he was too weak to stand. They carried him up to bed. The porter, and the man who had reached across him for the matches five minutes before, intending conversation, stood, one at his feet and the other at his head. As he passed through the vestibule of the hotel, he saw the people staring, and in his hand he crumpled up the unopened letters he had received so short a time ago. ‘I really think--I can manage alone,’ he thanked them. ‘If you will set me down I can walk. I felt dizzy for a moment.’ ‘The heat in the hall----’ the gentleman began in a quiet, sympathetic voice. They left him standing on the stairs, watching a moment to see that he had quite recovered. Limasson walked up the two flights to his room without faltering. The momentary dizziness had passed. He felt quite himself again, strong, confident, able to stand alone, able to move forward, able to _climb_. THE DAMNED I ‘I’m over forty, Frances, and rather set in my ways,’ I said good-naturedly, ready to yield if she insisted that our going together on the visit involved her happiness. ‘My work is rather heavy just now too, as you know. The question is, _could_ I work there--with a lot of unassorted people in the house?’ ‘Mabel doesn’t mention any other people, Bill,’ was my sister’s rejoinder. ‘I gather she’s alone--as well as lonely.’ By the way she looked sideways out of the window at nothing, it was obvious she was disappointed, but to my surprise she did not urge the point; and as I glanced at Mrs. Franklyn’s invitation lying upon her sloping lap, the neat, childish handwriting conjured up a mental picture of the banker’s widow, with her timid, insignificant personality, her pale grey eyes and her expression as of a backward child. I thought, too, of the roomy country mansion her late husband had altered to suit his particular needs, and of my visit to it a few years ago when its barren spaciousness suggested a wing of Kensington Museum fitted up temporarily as a place to eat and sleep in. Comparing it mentally with the poky Chelsea flat where I and my sister kept impecunious house, I realised other points as well. Unworthy details flashed across me to entice: the fine library, the organ, the quiet work-room I should have, perfect service, the delicious cup of early tea, and hot baths at any moment of the day--without a geyser! ‘It’s a longish visit, a month--isn’t it?’ I hedged, smiling at the details that seduced me, and ashamed of my man’s selfishness, yet knowing that Frances expected it of me. ‘There _are_ points about it, I admit. If you’re set on my going with you, I could manage it all right.’