But Sansome, although he had put up a brave front to the last moment, was not in reality feeling near the hero of romance he looked. In spite of Morrell's cleverness, the Englishman had failed to observe that Sansome had touched the fringe of that second stage of semi-drunkenness when the "drinks were dying on him." While outwardly fairly sober, inwardly he was verging toward the incoherent. First one phase or mood would come to the top, then another, without order; sequence, or logical reason. He was momentarily dangerous or harmless. Nan's abrupt entrance scattered his last coherences. For the moment he fell back on habit, and habit was with him conventional He smiled his best smile. "Do sit down," he urged in his most society manner. This immediately convinced Nan that Keith must be badly hurt. "Tell me at once!" she demanded "Where is Milton? Is he--is--" "As far as I know," replied Sansome, still in his courtly manner, "Mr. Keith is in perfect health. As to where he is"--he waved an airy hand--"I do not know. It does not matter, does it? The point is we are cozy here together. Do sit down." "I don't understand," said she, advancing a step nearer, her brows knit, "Don't put me off. I got a note saying--" "I know; I wrote it," boasted Sansome fatuously. The blood mounted her face, her fists clenched, she advanced several steps fearlessly. "I don't, quite understand," she repeated, in hard, crisp tones. "You wrote it?' Isn't it true? What did you do such a thing for?" "To get you here, my dear, of course," rejoined Sansome gallantly. "I knew your puritanical scruples--I love them every one--but--" "Do you mean to say you dared decoy me here!" challenged Nan, all aflame. Her whole emotion was one of rage. It did not occur to her to be afraid of Ben Sansome, the conventional, the dilettante exquisite, without the gumption to say boo to a goose! This Sansome answered her, the habit of society strong within him. He became deprecatory, pleading, almost apologetic. His manners were on top and his rather weak nature quailed before the blaze of her anger. "I know it was inexcusable," he babbled, "but what could I do? I am mad about you! Do forgive me! Just sit down for a few moments. I don't blame you for being angry--any one is angry at being deceived--but do forgive me. If you'll only consider why I did it, you won't be angry. That's right," he ended soothingly, seeing that she neither spoke nor moved, "Just sit right down here and be comfortable. It must be cold driving. Let me give you a glass of sherry." He fussed about, shoving forward an armchair, arranging pillows, unstopping the decanter. "You fool!" she ejaculated in a low voice. She looked him all up and down, and turned to go. The door was locked! For the first time she noticed that Mrs. Morrell had not followed her in. Her heart fluttered in sudden panic, which she subdued. She moved toward the other door.