Alexander Nash did not appear a day older than the first time she had met him in London two years before. The fact that he was again clean-shaven accounted for his unaltered appearance, his wife decided. She had never cared for his carefully trimmed beard and mustache which he had worn until a day or so before. A flood of memories of the days of their courtship, their marriage in Paris and their happy, happy honeymoon kept Mrs. Nash silent. A year and six months had passed since then. Mrs. Nash bit her lip. "I am a romantic old fool," she admitted, and her usually metallic tones had softened, holding a depth of feeling which would have startled her skeptic friends. "Kiss me, Alec." From where she sat in the hall Miriam caught now and then the sound of voices from the living room on the floor below, and recognized Betty's clear tones and Roberts' heavier bass, with now and then a word from Alan Mason. But from Mrs. Nash's bedroom no sound issued and she waited patiently in her corner for Doctor Nash to take his departure. Footsteps on the staircase caused her to draw further back in the alcove; she was in no mood to talk to any member of the house party that night. Was "house party" the proper term when tragedy had brought them together under the same roof? With a shake of her head Miriam dismissed the question as Betty came up the steps, followed by Roberts. On reaching the second floor she paused and spoke to the physician. "I cannot sleep," Miriam heard her say. "Indeed, Doctor, I cannot sleep, and another night like the last three will drive me to madness. Can't you give me something to induce sleep?" Roberts scanned her closely. Betty's broken voice, her quivering lips which she strove vainly to keep steady, were both unmistakable symptoms of her overwrought condition. Roberts had marveled at her self-control during their drive homeward, unexpectedly delayed by a puncture which had taken Pierre over an hour to repair. Nash's wrath at the chauffeur for not having a spare tire along had added a picturesque moment to the monotony of the trip. It was the first time Roberts had seen the generally self-contained clergyman give way to temper. "Get ready for bed, Betty," Roberts advised, "and I will ask Miss Ward to prepare a sedative." Betty checked him with an expressive gesture. "Can't you give it to me?" she asked. "I--I dislike to--to ask Miss Ward for--for--to do anything," she spoke through chattering teeth. "I believe I am having a chill." Roberts laid a firm hand on her arm. "Come," he said in tones which his patients rarely disobeyed. "Go immediately to bed. I will find Miss Ward to assist you; now, no nonsense," as she paused to voice another objection. "Go." Miriam emerged from the alcove as Roberts, after conducting Betty to her bedroom door, came down the hall. "Doctor Nash is with his wife," she explained. "I have been sitting yonder and could not help but overhear your conversation with Miss Carter."