help me, won't you? because—his people know that we quarrel—and they might say"
Her really beautiful dark blue eyes, full of tears, looked at me most appealingly, as though she thought I could understand everything.
"Say what?"
"Well, I must tell you—nobody else knows—but he smokes 'hasheesh'—Indian hemp, you know—and I'm afraid he's had too much. He's quite different to what he usually is. Will you come now?"
I must say I didn't like the look of things at all. There was evidently something "not quite straight;" not that I cared, from the ordinary point of view. I was only thinking of myself, although I could not restrain a certain regard for this charming red-haired visitor.
"I will order a taxi," I suggested.
"No, no; it's only a quarter of a mile—see, I've walked it once," interupted my visitor. "Won't you come back with me now? I can't wait," she urged.
Certainly if she—a young and delicate-looking woman—could do it, so could I. I considered for a moment.
"Very well, Mrs. Martyn, I will brave the storm; if you can, I can," I said.
