Certainly my companion was given a glimpse of some underground kingdom illuminated by lurid light, for I quickly discovered that she was rapt into a state of exaltation which paid no heed to the visible world of fashion and light and music which surrounded us. I spoke to her gently more than once. It was useless. She sat there, with tireless eyelids and glistening eyes, to all outward semblance absorbed in Gounod’s majestic chant, but really, as I alone knew, unseeing and unhearing save to sights and sounds not given to my comprehension. The suddenness of the thing was positively startling. According to Hooper’s experiences, supplemented by my own with Karl, it was probable she would regain ordinary consciousness if touched. Yet I forbore, hovering between anxiety on the girl’s behalf and desire not to break in on a trance which might yield some knowledge of actual value. I have often wondered since if any observant eyes among the crowd of loungers were watching us. We must have offered a queer picture, a scene from the charade of life as it is staged in a big London hotel--the wistful-eyed girl, in a graceful pose, gazing blankly into space, as it seemed, and pondering some wordless problem, and the gray-haired, sparely built man watching her with a keenness that must have been very puzzling to any onlooker. At last the music ceased. There was some applause, and, to my great relief, Maggie regained her wits. Then a spasm of real passion convulsed her face, as though some fierce gust had swept from a thunder-cloud to distort the smooth mirror of a lake. Reasoned thought was slow in resuming its sway. I was sure she would spring to her feet and scream aloud. Yet it was evident that each instant she was becoming more conscious of her environment and gaining strength to repress the agony which wrung her bosom. With all my world-wandering and its consequent carelessness of mere outward effect, notwithstanding that wayward Celtic temperament which is apt to set Mrs. Grundy at defiance, the upper British crust of conventionality was sufficiently hard on me to demand a rapid glance around the Garden Court _to see if anybody was looking_! The whole roomful of people might have been gaping at us with twenty scandal-power for all I cared a moment later. Maggie grasped my wrist with a strength which I would not have credited her with, though your skilled violinist must need have good muscles. “I have heard Constantine raving most terribly,” she whispered, in tense accents, close to my ear. “He has arranged to sail from New York on Saturday, and his object in coming to England is to murder Karl!” CHAPTER XIII CONSTANTINE TAKES A JOURNEY