He turned and rang the bell as he spoke—a servant appeared, who was sent with a message to Mrs. Awdrey. She came to the drawing-room in a few minutes. Her face of animation, wakefulness of soul and feeling, made a strong contrast to Awdrey's haggard, lifeless expression.
He went up to his wife and put his hand on her shoulder.
"You have been telling tales of me, Maggie," he said. "You complain of something I know nothing about—my bad nights."
"They are very bad, Robert, very terrible," she replied.
"I cannot recall a single thing about them."
"I wish you could remember," she said.
"I have made a suggestion to your husband," interrupted Dr. Rumsey, "which I am happy to say he approves of. He returns with me to my house to-night. I will promise to look after him. If he does happen to have a bad night I shall be witness to it. Now pray go to bed yourself and enjoy the rest you sorely need."
Margaret tried to smile in reply, but her eyes filled with tears. Rumsey saw them, but Awdrey took no notice—he was staring straight into vacancy, after his habitual fashion.
A moment later he and Rumsey left the house together. Ten minutes afterward Rumsey opened his own door with a latchkey.
"It is late," he said to his guest. He glanced at the clock as he spoke. "At this hour I always indulge in supper—it is waiting for me now. Will you come and have a glass of port with me?"