"He came in," faltered Olga. "He—guessed you weren't well. He helped you back to your own room. Don't you remember?"
"Yes—yes—I remember!" Violet's brows were drawn with the effort; there was a look of dawning horror in her eyes. "I remember, Allegro!" she said, speaking rapidly. "He—he was very brutal to me, wasn't he? He made me tell him where to find the cigarettes, and then—and then—yes, he took them away. I've hated him ever since." Again that vindictive note sounded in her voice. "I won't bear brutality from any man," she said. "Do you know, if I didn't hate him, I believe I should be afraid of him? I know you are, Allegro."
"Perhaps; a little," Olga admitted.
"Ah! I knew it. He can do anything he likes with you. But I am different." She lifted her head proudly. "I am no man's slave," she said. "He thinks that he has only to speak, and I shall obey. He was never more mistaken in his life."
"But, Violet, he was only treating you as a patient," Olga protested.
"And he only took the cigarettes because—"
"I know why he took them." Quickly Violet interrupted. "And remember this, Allegro! Whatever happens to me in the future you must never, never let him attend me again. I suffered more from his treatment than I have ever suffered before, and I can never go through it again. You understand?" She looked at Olga with eyes that had in them the memory of a great pain. "It was torture," she said. "He forced his will upon mine. He crushed me down, so that I was at his mercy. It was like an overpowering weight. I thought my heart would stop. I don't know—even now—how it was I didn't die."
"He gave you the pain-killer, dear," said Olga soothingly. "That was what made you well again."
"The pain-killer!" Violet gazed at her bewildered. "What is—the pain-killer?" she said.
Olga shook her head. "I don't know what it is. He wouldn't tell me. He calls it—sudden death."
Violet gave a great start. "Good heavens, Allegro! And he gave me that?"