Sansome, who, it must be confessed, had been somewhat chagrined at the apparent intensity of her anxiety, was, within the next two hours, considerably reassured. Nan never did things halfway. For the moment she had forgotten her guest. He was certainly very kind, very thoughtful--as always--to stay here with her. She must not oppress his spirits. But the inner tension was terrible. She felt that shortly something must snap. And after supper, when they had returned to the drawing-room, a queer, low, growling, distant roar, borne on a chance shift of wind, broke one of her sentences in the middle. "What's that?" she cried, but before Sansome had replied, she knew what It was, the roar of the mob! And Milton was somewhere there! Suddenly a wave of reaction swept her, of anger. Why was he there? Why wasn't he at home? Why had he made no attempt to relieve her cruel anxiety? A messenger--it would have been very simple! And Ben Sansome was so kind--as always. She turned to him with a new decision. "I know you are dying to go see what is going on," she said. "You simply must not stay here any longer on my account. I insist! Indeed, I think I'll go to bed." But Ben Sansome, his manner becoming almost caressingly protective, would not listen. "It isn't safe to leave you alone," he told her. "All the worst elements of the city will be out. No woman should be left alone in times of such danger. I should feel most uneasy at leaving you before your husband comes in." His words were correct enough, but he managed to convey his opinion that he was only fulfilling what should have been Keith's first and manifest duty. She made no reply. The conversation languished and died. They sat in the lamplight opposite each other, occasionally exchanging a word or so. Sansome was content and enjoying himself. He conceived that the stars were fighting for him, and he was enjoying the hour. Nan, a prey alternately to almost uncontrollable fits of anxiety and flaming resentment, could hardly sit still. About midnight Gringo pricked up his ears and barked sharply. A moment later Keith came in. He was evidently dead tired and wholly preoccupied. He hung up his hat absently. Nan had sprung to her feet. "Oh, how could you!" she cried, the pent exasperation in her voice. "I've been so anxious! I didn't know what might have happened!" "I'm all right," replied Keith briefly. "Sorry you were worried. No chance to send you word." His apparent indifference added fuel to Nan's irritation. "If it hadn't been for Ben, I should have been stark, staring crazy, here all alone!". Keith for the first time appeared to notice Sansome's presence. He nodded at him wearily. "Mighty good of you," said he. "I appreciate it." "I thought _some_ man ought to be in the house at a time of such public excitement," rejoined Sansome significantly. Keith failed to catch, or elected not to notice, the implication. Nan's cheeks turned red.