"Just one minute!" She was passing the parlour door and paused. "Promise me that if you are in trouble you will send for me. For no one else; no other man, that is, but me. You owe me that much." "Yes, I promise." She spoke more softly and smiled. "And close these windows. It is not safe to leave veranda windows open at this hour." "I intended to close them before going up stairs. But--perhaps you will understand--the house when I came in seemed to reek with tobacco and liquor--with him!" His reply was inarticulate, but he pulled down the windows violently, and she locked them, smiling once more before she turned out the light. She returned to the dining-room, thinking upon food with distaste, but determined to eat until her head felt normal. She had no intention of speaking to her husband should he return, for she purposed to sleep on a sofa in the sewing-room and lock the door, but tones and brain must be lightly poised when she telephoned to her friends. The telephone bell rang. Once more she frowned, but answered the summons as promptly as she had opened the front door. To her amazement she heard her husband's voice. "Say," it said thickly, "I'm sorry. Promise not to take another drink for a month. Sorry, too, I've got to go to the house for a few minutes. Didn't intend to go home to-night--thought I'd give you time to get over bein' as mad as I guess you've got a right to be. But I got to go to Albany--politics--got to go to-night--must go home and get my grip. You--you--wouldn't pack it, would you? Then I needn't stay so long. Only got to sort some papers myself." Mrs. Balfame replied in the old wifely tones that so often had caused him to grit his teeth: "I never hold a man in your condition responsible for anything. Of course I'll pack your suitcase. What is more, I'll have a glass of lemonade ready, with aromatic spirits of ammonia in it. You must sober up before you start on a journey." "That's the ticket. You're a corker! Put in a bromide, too. I'm at Sam's, and I guess I'll walk over--need the air. You just go on bein' sweet and I'll bring you something pretty from Albany." "I want one of those new chiffon-velvet bags, and you will please get it in New York," she said practically. "I'll write an exact description of it and put it in the suitcase." "All right. Go ahead." His accents breathed profound relief, and although her brain was working at lightning speed, and her eyes were but a pale bar of light, she curled her lip scornfully at the childishness of man, as she hung up the receiver. She made the glass of lemonade, added the usual allowance of aromatic spirits of ammonia and bromide--a bottle of each was kept in the sideboard ready for instant use--then ran upstairs and returned with the colourless liquid she had purloined from Dr. Anna's cupboard.