He looked desperately round the room. His mother's work-basket stood in a little cupboard; surely there would be scissors; he might sever an artery. No; the sheet and nail were safer, if he had time. He dragged the counterpane from his bed, and with frantic haste began tearing off a strip. The sound of footsteps came up the stairs. No; the strip was too wide; it would not tie firmly; and there must be a noose. He worked faster as the footsteps drew nearer; and the blood throbbed in his temples and roared in his ears. Quicker--quicker! Oh, God! five minutes more! There was a knock at the door. The strip of torn stuff dropped from his hands, and he sat quite still, holding his breath to listen. The handle of the door was tried; then Julia's voice called: “Arthur!” He stood up, panting. “Arthur, open the door, please; we are waiting.” He gathered up the torn counterpane, threw it into a drawer, and hastily smoothed down the bed. “Arthur!” This time it was James who called, and the door-handle was shaken impatiently. “Are you asleep?” Arthur looked round the room, saw that everything was hidden, and unlocked the door. “I should think you might at least have obeyed my express request that you should sit up for us, Arthur,” said Julia, sweeping into the room in a towering passion. “You appear to think it the proper thing for us to dance attendance for half an hour at your door----” “Four minutes, my dear,” James mildly corrected, stepping into the room at the end of his wife's pink satin train. “I certainly think, Arthur, that it would have been more--becoming if----” “What do you want?” Arthur interrupted. He was standing with his hand upon the door, glancing furtively from one to the other like a trapped animal. But James was too obtuse and Julia too angry to notice the look. Mr. Burton placed a chair for his wife and sat down, carefully pulling up his new trousers at the knees. “Julia and I,” he began, “feel it to be our duty to speak to you seriously about----” “I can't listen to-night; I--I'm not well. My head aches--you must wait.” Arthur spoke in a strange, indistinct voice, with a confused and rambling manner. James looked round in surprise. “Is there anything the matter with you?” he asked anxiously, suddenly remembering that Arthur had come from a very hotbed of infection. “I hope you're not sickening for anything. You look quite feverish.” “Nonsense!” Julia interrupted sharply. “It's only the usual theatricals, because he's ashamed to face us. Come here and sit down, Arthur.” Arthur slowly crossed the room and sat down on the bed. “Yes?” he said wearily. Mr. Burton coughed, cleared his throat, smoothed his already immaculate beard, and began the carefully prepared speech over again: