“Open it, sir?”
“Yes. Two. Now try that. Best thing in the world for a bad head.”
The old butler withdrew as softly as he had come in, and Katrine took two or three sips from her glass, while Artis tossed his off, and then, setting it down, walked quickly to the door.
Katrine’s eyes dilated, and, bending forward, she listened, and then sprang up and glided quickly across from the inner room to meet Artis half-way, and be clasped in his arms.
“What have you done?” she cried.
“Nothing.”
“You have fastened the door.”
“Nonsense.”
“I say you have!”
“Well, suppose I have. What then?”