"I wish you'd give that up, darling," Buckton said, reproachfully. "I saw them on your bureau yesterday and started to throw them out of the window. Doctors say it easily becomes a habit, and a bad one." "I don't take it often, I really don't," Irene answered. "But I sometimes wonder if it would make any difference. I can sympathize with a hopeless drunkard, who, in a besotted condition, is able to forget trouble and sorrow." "Finish your breakfast," Buckton cried, forcing a laugh. "We are going to take that drive. The fresh air will knock all those ideas out of your pretty head." They spent the day driving about the country. They had supped at a quaint and picturesque cafe, and returned to the hotel. He was in her bedroom at ten o'clock, still active in his efforts to set her mind at ease, when a sharp rapping was heard on the door of his sitting-room adjoining. "It is something for me," Buckton said. "Wait, and I'll see what it is." Before he had finished speaking there was another and a louder rapping. Buckton hastened out, closing the connecting door cautiously. Irene stood up. She had a premonition that something disagreeable was about to happen. She heard Buckton unlock his door. Then she recognized the voice of the proprietor of the hotel. "I want to see you privately, Mr. Buckton," the voice said. "All right; won't you come in?" Buckton replied; and immediately the latch of the door clicked as it was closed. There was a pause, during which Irene, holding her handkerchief to her lips, crept to the connecting door and stood with her ear close to the keyhole. She held her breath. The pounding of her heart seemed to fill the still room with obtrusive sound. "You must pardon me, but it is my duty"--the proprietor's voice rose with sudden sharpness--"to speak of your relations with the woman you brought here with you." "My--my relations?" Buckton's voice had fallen low, and the tone was cautious. "Please don't talk so loud. She is not well and might overhear. What do you mean, sir--do you mean to insinuate--" "You may call it anything you like," the proprietor retorted, in evident anger. "I've been in the hotel business for twenty-five years, and have never been charged with keeping an indecent house. When you arrived here I thought your companion was all right, but I now know who and what she is. I can rely on my information, so we won't argue about that." Irene heard a scuffing of feet which drew the two men closer to the door at which she stood. The truth was that Buckton had drawn back to strike the man, who caught his hand and held it.