Disregarding his suggestion to sit still while he put up his machine, I climbed down and picked my way over the slippery path. I had not gone far when the doctor overtook me and, seizing me from behind, lifted me in his arms. Not even the presence of the men shovelling snow prevented. My first impulse was to free myself, and I believe I administered a kick or two. The more I remonstrated the more he laughed. The picture of making a ridiculous show of myself made me submit to being carried the rest of the way. After ushering me into the living-room the doctor had the good sense to leave me alone for a while. By the time he appeared I had sufficiently recovered my equilibrium to receive him frostily. My dignity was lost on him. He pulled up a great armchair in front of the roaring fire and bade me drink the hot scotch the waiter at that moment brought in. A subdued titter from an obscure corner of the room sent the doctor in search of other occupants. He discovered them behind a screen. "Aha!" he greeted them in mock-seriousness. "Discovered!" "Stung"; responded a masculine voice. "So this is why you wouldn't join our party, eh? You sneaked off by yourselves. I didn't think anybody but me would have the nerve to try this place so soon after the snow-storm." "Neither did we!" "For Heaven's sake don't give us away, will you?" It was the woman who spoke.... "Who've you got with you?" she added in a lower tone. "O, a little friend of mine," answered the doctor. "Come over and meet her. I think you know her husband--Hartley, the actor." I fear the couple whose _rendezvous_ we had discovered were not impressed with the popular actor's wife. My conversation was limited to monosyllables. The omission, I fancy, was not serious. They had their own topic of conversation. It revolved chiefly around the tenth commandment. In fact, one might conclude with perfect assurance that the seventh and the last of the commandments are the _raison d'être_ of all conversation among that set.... I lost count of the drinks. The doctor said that in the future he would provide Maraschino cherries by the bottle for my especial delectation. When we left the club it was dark. The doctor's friends went at the same time. They had a chauffeur. The doctor's bloodshot eyes made me wish we, too, had one. The cold air, happily, set him right. He drove more carefully than earlier in the day. Perhaps he recognized his own condition. Once he slowed down and looked at his watch. "We're going to be late," he said. "I've half a mind to telephone that we've picked up a puncture and have gone back to town for repairs. What do you say?" He appeared to be turning the matter over in his mind, but I could see that he was not taking me into consideration. "No, we can't do that," I said without too much emphasis. "Mr. Hartley would be worried."