“Never!”
“A-a-h!”
With a scream she turned suddenly and ran from him to the little table upon which stood the electric lighter. Over her shoulders was a light, loose scarf, which she had worn as part of her garden-party costume. She tore it from her and thrust it into the flame of the electric lighter. In an instant the delicate material had caught the flames and, before Lord Ashley could divine her intention, she rushed to the sigmagraph’s indicator and upon its sensitized surface flashed the light thrice; but not before her gown at sleeves and bosom caught in flame.
Lord Ashley, recovering from the first shock of surprise, sprang toward her, dashed the burning scarf to the floor and with a few rapid movements smothered the flames at work upon her frock.
“What have you done?” he cried staring at the injury to her dainty white flesh. “Do you realize that you have placed your life in peril?”
She was dazed and half fainting from the pain of her injuries, and he supported her to a divan at the further end of the apartment.
“Do you realize what you have done?” he repeated.
But despite the pain, despite the fact that she felt her senses were leaving her, the thought of Mortimer’s safety was still uppermost in her mind.
“The signal—the signal,” she moaned hysterically, “was the signal given in time? Is he safe? Oh, tell me that he is safe! See—see!”
A shriek broke from her. She sat staring straight before her as one seized with a paralysis of fear.