He was a temperate man, at once by taste and by necessity, but now he walked to where the brandy was kept and drank a wineglassful in gulps. "Mamie!" he groaned again; "Mamie!" The brandy did not blot the picture from his brain; and he refilled the glass.... Nothing would efface the picture. He knew that it was hopeless to attempt to sleep, yet he went to the bedroom. The ivory brushes were gone from the toilet-table--she had been able to think of brushes! In the wardrobe the frocks were fewer, and the linen was less; the jewellery that he had given to her had been left behind. All was orderly. There were no traces of a hurried departure; the room had its usual aspect. He looked at the pillows. Against the one that had been hers lay the bag of silk and lace that contained her night-dress. Had she forgotten it; or was it that she had been incapable of transferring that? He picked it up, and dropped it out of sight in one of the drawers. He did not go to bed; he spent the night in an armchair, re-reading the letter, and thinking. When the servant knocked at the door, he went to his dressing-room, and shaved. He had a bath, and breakfasted, and strolled to the station. Outwardly he had recovered from the blow, and his clerk who gave him his list of appointments remarked nothing abnormal about him. In court, Heriot remembered that Mamie and he were to have dined in Holland Park that evening, and during the luncheon adjournment he sent a telegram of excuse. If any one had known what had happened to him, he would have been thought devoid of feeling. He had scarcely re-entered the flat when Mrs. Baines called. His first impulse was to decline to see her; but he told the maid to show her in. A glance assured him that she was ignorant of what had occurred. "Dear Mamie is away, the servant tells me," she said, simpering. "I hadn't seen her for such a long time that I thought I'd look in to-day. Not that I should have been so late, but I missed my train! I meant to come in and have a cup of tea with her at five o'clock. Well, I _am_ unfortunate! And how have you been keeping, Mr. Heriot?" "I'm glad to see you. I hope you are well, Mrs. Baines." "Where has dear Mamie gone?" she asked. "Pleasuring?" "She is on the Continent, I believe. May I tell them to bring you some tea now?" "On the Continent alone?" exclaimed Mrs. Baines. "Fancy!" "No, she is not alone," said Heriot. "You must prepare yourself for a shock, Mrs. Baines. Your niece has left me." She looked at him puzzled. His tone was so composed that it seemed to destroy the significance of his words. "Left you? How do you mean?" "She has gone with her lover." "Oh, my Gawd!" said Mrs. Baines.... "Whatever are you saying, Mr. Heriot? Don't!" "Your niece is living with another man. She left me yesterday," he continued quietly. "I am sorry to have to tell you such news."