“I think a breath of night air would suit us both better than this hubbub,” he suggested, opening the casement window behind him. “Will you take my arm, Evelyn?” She hesitated a moment, a sense of duty to be done detaining her. Then, with another look at her husband, at the noisy room of flushed people, repugnance mounted too high; she placed her hand on the doctor’s arm, and stepped down to the terrace beneath the casement. Beyond lay the scented gardens, the breadth of cool heavens, the velvet darkness outside the range of light from the cottage windows, pointed in places by tall poplars. “Let us get beyond the sound of their noise,” the doctor murmured, drawing her more closely to him. A fresh burst of laughter, doubtless caused by some new antic of her husband, sped her steps away from the band of light about the house. She shivered with distaste of it. Not that! Rather to flee away in the cool, dark night, away forever from the life which she had known and which was a failure,--to find escape from the threatening horror which was hers and his! Vessinger drew her wrap more closely about her, with an air of domination, and she followed submissively through the deserted alleys of the dark garden, listening to his tense words, in a lethargy of spirit.... There was an eruption from the brilliant house. Men’s voices reached the pair in the garden. The voices protested, coaxed; for a time they faded away to the other side of the house. Then they returned, and the woman in the garden heard her husband speaking thickly and loudly. “That’s all right, boys. But I must find my wife, first. Dixey says he saw her go out here, when I was singing.” She started involuntarily, but the doctor restrained her. “They will take him away,” he whispered, “in a minute.” Evidently that was what his companions were endeavoring to do, but Simmons with drunken obstinacy persisted in his point. “Yes,” he said, in his loud, confident voice, “I’ll go with you all right, just as soon as I find my wife. Never left my wife. It wouldn’t be right, you know!” She slipped her arm from her companion, and walked rapidly toward the terrace, Vessinger following her. “I am here, Olaf,” she said, going up to the knot of men. “Are you looking for me?” His companions separated awkwardly,--all but one, who held Simmons’s swaying figure. “That you, Evelyn? Wanted to tell you that I am going in town with these fellows. Let me get the carriage for you. Don’t mind going home alone, do you, Evelyn?” “I will take Mrs. Simmons to her carriage,” Vessinger offered, stepping forward. “Excuse me!” Simmons replied, waving him back. “Will you take my arm, Evelyn?” Together in some fashion, they reached the _porte-cochère_, and there again Vessinger tried to put Mrs. Simmons in the carriage, to whisper a word privately to her. “Shan’t I drive back with Mrs. Simmons?” he asked. Simmons wavered unsteadily, looking at Vessinger all the time. Then he said very distinctly: