He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. The doctor frowned. You need only answer me truthfully and you have nothing to fear.
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