The huge animal lay down by the foot of the bed and heaved a sigh of
satisfaction as he dropped his nose upon his paws.

And then Violet turned her face to Olga, sitting on the bed, and
whispered, "Does he know?"

"Who?" whispered back Olga.

"Max, of course! Who else?"

Olga hesitated. Violet's hands were gripping her very tightly. "Know
what, dear?" she said at last.

A quick frown drew Violet's forehead. "Oh, you know what I mean. Does he
know about my going mad? Have you told him?"

"My dearest,"--keen distress rang in Olga's voice--"don't--don't talk
like that! You're not mad! You're not mad!"

Violet's frown changed into a very strange smile. "Oh yes, but I am,"
she said. "I've been mad for some time now. It's been gradually coming
on, but to-day--to-day it is moving faster--much faster." Her low voice
quickened. "I haven't much sanity left, Allegro. I can feel it slipping
from me inch by inch like a paid-out rope. Only enough left now to know
that I am mad. When I don't know that any longer, I shall have lost it
all."

"Dearest! Dearest!" moaned Olga. "Won't you try to forget it--try to
think of other things for a little?"