The room was flooded with electric light, and smelt of very strong Havana cigars and brandy.  Margaret saw a slight figure in a red silk evening gown, lying at full length on an immense red leathern sofa.  A young doctor was kneeling on the floor, bending down to press his ear against the girl’s side; he moved his head continually, listening for the beating of her heart.  Her face was of a type every one knows, and had a certain half-pathetic prettiness; the features were small, and the chin was degenerate but delicately modelled.  The rather colourless fair hair was elaborately done; her thin cheeks were dreadfully white, and her thin neck shrank painfully each time she breathed out, though it grew smooth and full as she drew in her breath.  A short string of very large pearls was round her throat, and gleamed in the light as her breathing moved them.

Schreiermeyer did not let Griggs come in, but went out to him, shut the door and stood with his back to it.

Margaret did not look behind her, but crossed directly to the sofa and leaned over the dying girl, who was conscious and looked at her with inquiring eyes, not recognising her.

‘You sent for me,’ said the singer gently.

‘Are you really Madame Cordova?’ asked the girl in a faint tone.

It was as much as she could do to speak at all, and the doctor looked up to Margaret and raised his hand in a warning gesture, meaning that his patient should not be allowed to talk.  She saw his movement and smiled faintly, and shook her head.

‘No one can save me,’ she said to him, quite quietly and distinctly.  ‘Please leave us together, doctor.’

‘I am altogether at a loss,’ the doctor answered, speaking to Margaret as he rose.  ’There are no signs of asphyxia, yet the heart does not respond to stimulants.  I’ve tried nitro-glycerine—­’

‘Please, please go away!’ begged the girl.

The doctor was a young surgeon from the nearest hospital, and hated to leave his case.  He was going to argue the point, but Margaret stopped him.

‘Go into the next room for a moment, please,’ she said authoritatively.

He obeyed with a bad grace, and went into the empty office which adjoined the manager’s room, but he left the door open.  Margaret knelt down in his place and took the girl’s cold white hand.

‘Can he hear?’ asked the faint voice.

‘Speak low,’ Margaret answered.  ‘What can I do?’

‘It is a secret,’ said the girl.  ’The last I shall ever have, but I must tell some one before I die.  I know about you.  I know you are a lady, and very good and kind, and I have always admired you so much!’

‘You can trust me,’ said the singer.  ’What is the secret I am to keep for you?’

’Do you believe in God?  I do, but so many people don’t nowadays, you know.  Tell me.’

‘Yes,’ Margaret answered, wondering.  ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Will you promise, by the God you believe in?’