seemed to regard it as a very facetious document. Then he added something to it. He had a few valuable diamonds which he had collected for no particular purpose some years before, and he thought that Ethel Maywood might as well have them. And then he wrote his offer to Madame de Fonblanque, and sealed and addressed it. It seemed to give him such acute pleasure that he almost forgot his pain. He smiled, his black eyes sparkled, he smoothed his mustache coquettishly, and thought to himself:
"Checkmated, by Jove!"
It was then near twelve o'clock, and he rang for Bridge and went to his bedroom.
The man undressed him and put him to bed, and then Mr. Romaine said casually:
"You had better sit in this room to-night."
Even with this servant, who knew the whole secret of his ailments, Mr. Romaine maintained a systematic kind of deceit which did not deceive.
Bridge stirred the fire into a ruddy blaze, and sat down by it to doze. Occasionally he rose and went toward the luxurious bed, where Mr. Romaine lay with wide-open, staring eyes, and every few moments he wanted something
