argument. I am sorry she had to give in to superior numbers," Whitney
laughed. "You'll never convince me that she fainted."

"She did, too; and felt so badly that I persuaded her not to go home, but
to spend the remainder of the night in our blue bedroom."

"Good heavens!" Whitney gazed blankly at his wife. "Did she--did ..."

"No, she did not stay there," pausing dramatically. "She found Sinclair
Spencer sound asleep in the bed." She waited expectantly for her
husband's comment, but getting no reply, she burst out, "What was he
doing there--how came he to be there?"

"I was foolish enough to offer him whiskey." Her husband seated himself
carefully on the edge of the bed, "Spencer had been drinking before he
came to see me, and a very little more made him tipsy. I was fearful that
if I took him downstairs he would try and break up your meeting, so
persuaded him to go and lie down on the bed in the blue room."

"Sometimes, Winslow, for a thoughtful man, you ball things up
dreadfully," sighed Mrs. Whitney. "Why did you select that room? You
always put your friends in the hall bedroom."

"Never gave the matter of the rooms a thought." Whitney moved restlessly;
he hated to see a woman cry, and his wife looked perilously upon the
point of tears. In spite of his assertion that he did not miss the loss
of sleep, his nerves were not under full control. Ordinarily not a
drinking man, he had stopped on his way from his bedroom to help himself
to the small amount of Scotch left in the bottle.