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The knights followed her to the foot of the stairs.

“Don’t go yet,” pleaded Baden, leaning heavily upon the banister. “The night’s still young.”

“You can’t go to bed as you are, old thing,” George informed her. “Better come for a little spin in the car. Blow away some of the wine-dust. You’ll have an awfully thick head in the morning if you don’t.”

“No, thank you. Really, it’s been nice to have you look after me. I’ll see you again in the morning, I’m catching the express to Wellington. Good-night.”

She allowed them both to kiss her hand with the exaggerated courtesy of the cavalier.

“Marry, ’tis a sorry blow to be deprived of thy sweet presence, Lorena,” mourned George, when she smiled down upon them as she mounted the staircase wearily.

“Odds bodkins, marry and forsooth,” agreed his companion.

She waved a hand as she disappeared upon the landing above.

The two knights leaned against the banisters for some moments in silence. They smiled and nodded at each other in understanding.

“What is the betting?” asked Baden, in subdued tones.

“Fifty of Ardath,” answered George.

“You’re on.”

They linked arms and strolled into the commercial room, where they found a pack of cards, and a night-porter who resented their intention to indulge in play at this hour of the night.

****

Patricia sat upon her bed for a long time, thinking. She held her head in her hands and stared at the weaving floor. Reaction had set in. The fall from false gaiety to renewed despair was swift and terrible. Her head ached abominably. She was