Josephine was pacing the floor, her fine brow knitted in thought. She was muttering to herself. Oliver, lying on a couch, smiled up into Jane’s lovely eyes. She sat beside him, holding his hand in both of hers. Serepta Grimes, having stubbornly refused to go to bed, sat in a morris chair across the room and, perhaps for the first time in her long life, was being forced to accept her own medicine at the hands of a suddenly important Samaritan in the person of Lizzie Meggs, who, without rime or reason, had been plying her with aromatic spirits of ammonia for the better part of an hour, reserving to herself the diminishing contents of a silver hip-flask produced by the efficient Mr. Parr. The Reverend Mr. Sage stood apart with Dr. Lansing, deep in a low-voiced argument as to whether God or man, Providence or science, had saved the life of Oliver October. In the crook of the parson’s arm snuggled Henry the Eighth, who, between intermittent fits of dozing, licked the hand that had spanked devotion into him. Miss Judge paused. “It was rather good, wasn’t it?” she observed. “I am trying to fix that speech in my mind. I shall have a play written around it. I know the very man who can do it. He has been eager to write a play for me. I shall telegraph him to-morrow to come to Rumley at once. In my mind’s eye I can visualize that remarkable scene, I can—” “Josephine!” cried Mr. Sage, aghast. “You are not thinking of going back—going back—” She held up her hand. “Not to London, old thing—not to London. It is possible I may consent to make a farewell tour of America. Sarah Bernhardt, Ellen Terry—why not I? My own company—” At this juncture, Oliver sat up and claimed the audience. “Sammy,” he cried out thickly but with the ring of enthusiasm in his voice, “do me a favor, will you?” “Sure,” cried Sammy, springing to his feet. “Stand up with me. I’m going to be married. I’ve been best man for you twice—” “Great!” cried Sammy. “I’ll not only stand up with you, old boy, but I’ll let you lean on me.” “Now?” gasped Serepta Grimes, in great agitation. “At once,” declared Oliver, struggling to his feet. “I came near to losing her to-night. I’ll take no more chances.” “Yes—now!” cried Jane softly, and for the first time that night the color came back to her cheeks. CHAPTER XXV MR. GOOCH SEES THINGS AT NIGHT