Notwithstanding | Page 6

was ill."
"You needed sleep."
"Is--is he better?"
"He is somewhat better."
"I will go to him."
"He does not need you just now."
"Has the doctor found out what is the matter with him?"
"He thinks he has." Mrs. Stoddart spoke very slowly. "As far as I
understand, there is a cerebral lesion, and it is possible that it may not
be as serious as he thought at first. It may have been aggravated for the
moment by drink, the effects of which are passing off. But there is

always the risk--in this case a great risk--that the injury to the brain
may increase. In any case, his condition is very grave. His family ought
to be communicated with at once."
Annette stared at her in silence.
"They must be summoned," said Mrs. Stoddart.
"But I don't know who they are," said Annette. "I don't even know his
real name. He is called Mr. Le Geyt. It is the name he rides under."
Mrs. Stoddart reddened. She had had her doubts.
"A wife should know her husband's name," she said.
"But, you see, I'm not his wife."
There was a moment's silence. Mrs. Stoddart's eyes fell on Annette's
wedding ring.
"That is nothing," said Annette. "Dick said I had better have one, and
he bought it in a shop before we started. I think I'll take it off. I hate
wearing it."
"No, no. Keep it on."
There was another silence.
"But you must know his address."
"No. I know he is often in Paris. But I have only met him at--at a
cabaret."
"Could you trust me?" said Mrs. Stoddart humbly.
Annette trembled, and her face became convulsed.
"You are very kind," she said, "very kind,--getting the nurse, and
helping, and this nice warm rug, and everything,--but I'm afraid I can't

trust anyone any more. I've left off trusting people."

Chapter 4
"Et je m'en vais Au vent mauvais Qui m'emporte Deˆ, delˆ, Pareille ˆ la
Feuille morte." -- Verlaine
It was the second day of Dick's illness. Annette's life had revived
somewhat, though the long sleep had not taken the strained look from
her eyes. But Mrs. Stoddart's fears for her were momentarily allayed.
Tears were what she needed, and tears were evidently a long way off.
And Annette fought for the life of poor Dick as if he were indeed her
bridegroom, and Mrs. Stoddart abetted her as if he were her only son.
The illness was incalculable, abnormal. There were intervals of lucidity
followed by long lapses into unconsciousness. There were hours in
which he seemed to know them, but could neither speak nor move.
There were times when it appeared as if the faint flame of life had
flickered quite out, only to waver feebly up again.
Together the two women had searched every article of Dick's effects,
but they could find no clue to his address or identity. Annette
remembered that he had had a pocket-book, and seeing him take a note
out of it to pay for the tickets. But the pocket-book could not be found,
or any money. It was evident that he had been robbed that first evening
when he was drinking. Some of his handkerchiefs were marked with
four initials, R. L. G. M.
"Richard Le Geyt M. Then he had another name as well," said Mrs.
Stoddart. "You can't recall having ever heard it?"
Annette shook her head.
"He is supposed to be an English lord," she said, "and very rich. And he
rides his own horses, and makes and loses a great deal of money on the
turf. And he is peculiar--very depressed one year, and very wild the

next. That is all that people like us who are not his social equals know
of him."
"I do not even know what your name is," said Mrs. Stoddart tentatively,
as she rearranged Dick's clothes in the drawers, and took up a bottle of
lotion which had evidently been intended for his strained neck.
"My name is Annette."
"Well, Annette, I think the best thing you can do is to write to your
home and say that you are coming back to it immediately."
"I have no home."
Mrs. Stoddart was silent. Any information which Annette vouchsafed
about herself always seemed to entail silence.
"I have made up my mind," Annette went on, "to stay with Dick till be
is better. He is the only person I care a little bit about."
"No, Annette, you do not care for him. It is remorse for your neglect of
him that makes you nurse him with such devotion."
"I do not love him," said Annette. "But then, how could I? I hardly
know him. But he meant to be kind to me. He was the only person who
was kind. He tried