“Oh, it’s nothing, dear, nothing. I shall feel perfectly well in a minute.” She let him draw her close to him, and they stood together in silence. “We must go back, Douglas. Some of the people must be looking for us. I’m all right now.” “If you feel faint again let me know, or go out of that hot drawing-room,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye on you, anyway.” IX It was nearly three o’clock before the last guest left. The flowers in the deserted rooms had drooped and faded; even the lights seemed to have dimmed. The house wore an air of melancholy. Fanny and Guy came from the dining-room, where they had eaten a second supper. “I wonder where Aunt and Uncle are?” she said. “Doesn’t it seem ghostly?” She yawned, covering her cheeks with both hands. “Ugh! I guess they’re in the library.” Helen Briggs was seated in one of the big easy-chairs, her head thrown back and her eyes closed. Her husband sat beside her, looking down at her face. “Flirting, as usual!” said Fanny. Then she added: “Well, wasn’t it grand?” “Better go to bed,” said Briggs, sleepily. Helen half-opened her eyes. “I’m glad you had a good time, dear.” “Everybody seemed pleased,” said Guy, with a glance at Douglas. He liked to look at things from the professional point of view. “Fanny, do go to bed,” Helen insisted. “All right,” Fanny assented, meekly. She kissed Helen; then she kissed her uncle. She approached Guy Fullerton on tiptoe and held her hand high in the air. “Good-night, sir,” she said, softly. A half-hour later the house was in darkness, save for a light in the library, where Douglas Briggs sat writing. After an evening of excitement he never could rest, and he found that some quiet work soothed his nerves. He was one of those men who seemed to thrive with very little rest; he had often worked all night, not even lying down, without showing in his face the next day a trace of the vigil.