"Come," she said.
She led me towards her room. No longer was I able to resist. My foot was on the threshold and I was almost over when——
"Telegram, sir."
It was a messenger. Confusedly I took the flimsy envelope and tore it open. Blankly I stared at the line of type. I stared like a man in a dream. I was sober enough now.
"Ain't you coming?" said Blossom, putting her arms round me.
"No," I said hoarsely, "leave me, please leave me. Oh, my God!"
Her face changed, became vindictive, the face of a fury.
"Curse you!" she hissed, gnashing her teeth. "Oh, I knew. It's that other, that white-faced doll you care for. Look at me! Am I not better than her? And you scorn me. Oh, I hate you. I'll get even with you and her. Curse you, curse you——"
She snatched up an empty wine bottle. Swinging it by the neck she struck me square on the forehead. I felt a stunning blow, a warm rush of blood. Then I fell limply forward, and all the lights seemed to go out.
There I lay in a heap, and the blood spurting from my wound soaked the little piece of paper. On it was written: