She frequently wondered with some pique and much disapproval that she heard nothing from Morgan Steele. The few glimpses she had caught of the nature behind the mask tempted her to idealise him, and she finally succumbed. One night she awoke to the fact that she had been walking the stars with him, discussing the mysteries of the Universe. She pictured the smile with which he would regard the workings of her imagination, were they revealed to him, and recalled his business-like demeanour, his shirt sleeves, his Park Row vocabulary, and his impatient scorn of “damned slush.” It happened to be midnight when these later thoughts arrived, and she laughed aloud. “What are you laughing at?” demanded a querulous voice from the next room. “Nothing.” “Nothing? Do you suppose I’m an idiot? Tell me what you were laughing at.” “Go to sleep, go to sleep.” “I can’t go to sleep. You lie there and laugh while I lie here and suffer.” “Why didn’t you say you were suffering? Do you want the morphine?” “No, I don’t.” An hour later Patience was roused from her first heavy sleep. “Patience! Patience! Oh, my God! My God! My God!” Patience stumbled out of bed and into her dressing-gown and slippers, shaking her head vigorously to dispel the vapours in her brain. “Yes, yes!” she said. “I’m coming. Do please don’t make such a fuss. You’ll wake up everybody—” “Not make a fuss! Oh, I wish you had it for a minute—” Patience ran into the lavatory and turned up the gas. The night was very warm, and the door leading into Honora’s room stood wide. The light fell full on her face. Patience saw that her eyes were open. “I hope Beverly didn’t wake you up,” she said. “He does make such a noise.” “I was awake. I never sleep well in warm weather. I don’t envy you, though.” “Oh, I don’t mind if only I don’t make a terrible mistake some night and give him an overdose. He takes particular pains to wait until I am in my first sleep and then I hardly know what I am doing. There! this is the third time I have dropped the wretched stuff. What is the good of drop bottles, anyway?” “Why don’t you use the hypodermic?” “I can’t. It would make me ill to puncture people. And this does him as much good.” She set the bottle down impatiently, drew a basin full of cold water, dashed it over her face, then dropped the dose and took it to Beverly. “Stay with me,” he commanded. “You know it doesn’t take effect at once, and I feel better if I hold your hand.” She sat down beside him and nodded sleepily until the morphine did its work. XII