Notwithstanding | Page 6

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 De?, del?, Pareille ? 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 to save me, though not in the right way. Poor Dick, he does not know much. But I must stay and nurse him till he is better. I can't desert him."
"My dear," said Mrs. Stoddart impatiently, "that is all very well, but you cannot remain here without a scandal. It is different for an old woman like myself. And though we have not yet got into touch with his family, we shall directly. If I can't get a clue otherwise, I shall apply to the police. You must think of your own character."
"I do not care about my character," said Annette in the same tone in which she might have said she did not care for black coffee.
"But I do," said Mrs. Stoddart to herself.
"And I have a little money," Annette continued,--"at least, not