“Excuse—­please, Excuse!”

The butler filled a glass and offered it to Virginia, but she shook her head.  He then offered it to Fanny, who also declined.

“Not them,” smiled Stafford, “me!”

Draining the glass he handed it back.

“Anything else?” asked the man politely.

“No.”

“Then excuse, please!  Excuse.”

The butler apologetically picked up his tray and started to go when his master stopped him.

“Here!”

Oku stopped, and his master made a sign to him to put the tray and ice-water on the table again.

“You want me leave water?”

“Yes!”

The butler placed the tray on the table.

“Anything else, sir?”

“No.”

“Then excuse, please!  Excuse!”

Oku withdrew and Fanny approached her sister, who was seated at the window idly gazing into the street.  Stafford rose and joined them.

“Well, dear?” he stammered nervously.

“Now I—­I must go!” exclaimed Fanny.

“Please!” pleaded Stafford, motioning her not to desert him.

“But the baby,” exclaimed his sister-in-law.

“Oh, come!” he laughed.  “Don’t desert a comrade in distress.”

“But she might need me—­really she might.  So—­excuse me.”

She hurried away and for some minutes after she had gone there was complete silence.  Virginia made no movement and Stafford, afraid to begin talking, contented himself by watching her.  At last, unable to keep up the artificial restraint any longer he said: 

“Dearie, before you say a word I want to tell you that I’m sorry for the condition I was in when I came home last night.  I’m dreadfully sorry, and ashamed—­”

She did not turn round and for a moment she made no reply.  He thought she had not heard.  Then, coldly, she said: 

“Do you know what you said to me?”

He advanced closer and, in the most apologetic manner possible, went on: 

“Sweetheart, I was drunk last night and I’m sorry.  I’m ashamed—­and I apologize!  I’ve got a dreadful head this morning and I’m as nervous as I can be!  So don’t bother me any more than you have to, will you, dearie?  Be nice to me this morning.  Come on now, dearie, be nice to me!”

She rose from her chair and confronted him.  Her face was pale and determined looking.  There was no love in it now, nothing but the expression of a woman who had been hurt in her most sensitive feelings.  Slowly, deliberately, in tones that cut him like a knife, she said: 

“Last night you said that you had bought and paid for me!”

“But I’ve explained, haven’t I?” he protested.  “I’ve said that I’m ashamed, and I’ve apologized.  Can I do any more?  You don’t know how nervous I am to-day—­nor how I feel!  I can’t stand these rackets like I used to.  Be a dear, good, sweet, little girl and don’t scold me.  Please dearie, please!”