By his side was an almost finished glass of whiskey. The bottle stood on the tray and another bottle lay, broken, on the floor.
Atkinson began clearing up this débris.
"Augustus!" I called, but he did not awake. "Augustus, it is time for dinner!"
"If you please, ma'am," said the valet, coughing respectfully, "if I might say so, you had better let Mr. Gurrage sleep, ma'am. I'll see after him. He is—very angry when he is like this and woke suddenly, ma'am."
I looked at the whiskey bottles and the flushed face. A sickening disgust overwhelmed me. And there would be no Lady Tilchester to save me to-night!
"Open the window," I said to Atkinson, "and persuade Mr. Gurrage to go to bed when he wakes." And I left the room.
All my guests were assembled when I got into the first drawing-room.
Indeed, it was twenty minutes to nine.
Mrs. Dodd had the air of an aggrieved turkey-gobbler. I felt she would fly at some one.
"We thought we should not get any dinner, Mrs. Gussie," she said, huffily. "Folks are generally down in their own houses!"
I took no notice of this remark.