"You know, father, that she can't stand any one in the room," said
Carroll equably.

Toward the close of the meal, however, a distant bell tinkled
faintly. Every one jumped as though guilty. Carroll said a hasty
excuse and ran out. After ringing the bell, the invalid had
evidently anticipated its answer by emerging from her room to the
head of the stairs, for Orde caught the sharp tones of complaint,
and overheard something about "take all night to eat a simple meal,
when I'm lying here suffering."

At the end of an interval a maid appeared in the doorway to say that
Miss Carroll sent word she would not be down again for a time, and
did not care for any more dinner. This seemed to relieve the
general's mind of responsibility. He assumed his little fussy air
of cheerfulness, told several stories of the war, and finally, after
Kendrick had left, brought out some whisky and water. He winked
slyly at Orde.

"Can't do this before the youngsters, you know," he chirruped
craftily.

Throughout the meal Gerald had sat back silent, a faint amusement in
his eye. After dinner he arose, yawned, consulted his watch, and
departed, pleading an engagement. Orde lingered some time,
listening to the general, in the hope that Carroll would reappear.
She did not, so finally he took his leave.

He trudged back to his hotel gloomily. The day had passed in a most
unsatisfactory manner, according to his way of looking at it. Yet