The room was a bed-room and contained a double bed. In the window, where dangled the card, was a dressing-table, and on it, undisguised, the paraphernalia of a woman's toilet.
Edward Caspar lay in bed, breathing shortly, his face pinched with physical and spiritual suffering.
Beside the bed was a chair and on it a manuscript.
Mr. Trupp glanced at the inscription—The Philosophy of Mysticism. Part I. The History of Animism.
"You've fuf—fuf—found us out early," gasped the young man with a ghastly smile.
"Nothing very terrible," said Mr. Trupp.
"I'm not ashamed of it," answered the other. "She's a good woman. Only my f—father's a bit old-fashioned. You see, I'm the only son."
"I don't suppose he knows," grunted Mr. Trupp.
"No, he don't know."
"And I don't see any reason why he should," continued the doctor.