"I couldn't sleep so I went out for a walk and then I didn't want to be alone so I came in here."
Mary gave her one look, then hurriedly throwing on her dressing-gown went into the next room, saying as she went:
"Stay there, Mill dear. . . . I'll be back, in a moment."
She carefully closed the door behind her then went to the telephone.
"6345 Gerrard, please. . . . Yes, is that—? Yes, I want to speak to Mr. Trenchard, please—Oh, I know he's asleep. Of course, but this is very serious. Illness. Yes. He must come at once. . . . Oh, is that you, Henry? Sorry to make you come down at this unearthly hour. Yes—it's Mary Cass. You must come over here at once. It's Millie. She's very ill. No, I don't know what the matter is, but you must come. Yes, at once."
She went back to Millie. She persuaded her to come into the sitting-room, to take off her hat. After that, she sat there on the little sofa without moving, staring in front of her.
Half an hour later Henry came in, rough, tumbled, dishevelled. At the sight of that familiar face, that untidy hair, those eager devoted eyes, a tremor ran through Millie's body.
He rushed across to her, flung his arms around her.
"Millie darling . . . darling. . . . What is it? Mill dearest, what's the matter?"
She clung to him; she shuddered from head to foot; then she cried: "Oh, Henry, don't leave me. Don't leave me. Never again. Oh, Henry, I'm so unhappy!"