the room as she continued to chatter, and when she reached the house-door, with the four men in her train, the carriage had just drawn up at the garden-gate. It appeared that Mrs. Rooth was not ready, and the girl, in spite of a remonstrance from Nick, who had the sense of usurping the old lady's place, repeated her injunction that she should be brought on in a cab. Miriam's companions accompanied her to the gate, and she insisted upon Nick's taking his seat in the brougham and taking it first. Before she entered she put out her hand to Sherringham and, looking up at him, held his own kindly. "Dear old master, aren't you coming to-night? I miss you when you're not there."
"Don't go—don't go—it's too much," Nash interposed.
"She is wonderful," said Basil Dashwood, regarding her admiringly; "she has gone into the rehearsals, tooth and nail. But nothing takes it out of her."
"Nothing puts it into you, my dear!" Miriam returned. Then she went on, to Sherringham: "You're the faithful one—you're the one I count on." He was not looking at her; his eyes travelled into the carriage, where they rested on Nick Dormer, established on the further seat with his face turned toward the further window. He was the one, faithful or no, counted on or no, whom a charming woman had preferred to carry off, and there was a certain triumph for him in that fact; but it pleased Sherringham to imagine that his attitude was a little foolish. Miriam discovered something of this sort in Sherringham's eyes; for she exclaimed abruptly: "Don't kill him—he doesn't care for me!" With this she passed into the carriage, which rolled away.
