against the girl's side; he moved his head continually, listening for
the beating of her heart. Her face was of a type every one knows, and
had a certain half-pathetic prettiness; the features were small, and
the chin was degenerate but delicately modelled. The rather colourless
fair hair was elaborately done; her thin cheeks were dreadfully white,
and her thin neck shrank painfully each time she breathed out, though
it grew smooth and full as she drew in her breath. A short string of
very large pearls was round her throat, and gleamed in the light as
her breathing moved them.

Schreiermeyer did not let Griggs come in, but went out to him, shut
the door and stood with his back to it.

Margaret did not look behind her, but crossed directly to the sofa and
leaned over the dying girl, who was conscious and looked at her with
inquiring eyes, not recognising her.

'You sent for me,' said the singer gently.

'Are you really Madame Cordova?' asked the girl in a faint tone.

It was as much as she could do to speak at all, and the doctor looked
up to Margaret and raised his hand in a warning gesture, meaning that
his patient should not be allowed to talk. She saw his movement and
smiled faintly, and shook her head.

'No one can save me,' she said to him, quite quietly and distinctly.
'Please leave us together, doctor.'

'I am altogether at a loss,' the doctor answered, speaking to Margaret