"I can go to Morelle and warn him," suggested Sault, "but that means trouble—here. I don't want to make mischief."
She nodded. "Evie would never forgive us," she said with a sigh. "I'm ready, Ambrose."
He stooped and lifted her from the bed, as though, as she once described it, she were of no greater weight than a pillow.
* * * * *
Mr. Jan Steppe was dressing for dinner when Sault was announced. "Tell him to wait—no, send him up."
"Here, sir?" asked the valet.
"Where else, you fool, huh?"
Sault came into the dressing-room and waited until his employer had fixed a refractory collar.
"Don't wait, you." The valet retired discreetly.
"Well, Sault, what do you want?"