“You went back to the Enderbys’ after Mr. Westover brought you home, and then some one else had to bring you again.”

“How do you know?”

“I was up, and let you in—­”

“Did you, Bessie?  That was like you,” he said, tenderly.

“And I had to let him in, too.  You pulled him into the house, and you made such a disturbance at the door that he had to come in for fear you would bring the police.”

“What a beast!” said Alan, of himself, as if it were some one else.

“He came in with you.  And you wanted him to have some supper.  And you fell asleep before the fire in the reception-room.”

“That—­that was the dream!” said Alan, severely.  “What are you talking that stuff for, Bessie?”

“Oh no!” she retorted, with a laugh, as if the pleasure of its coming in so fitly were compensation for the shame of the fact.  “The dream was what happened afterward.  The dream was that you fell asleep there, and left me there with him—­”

“Well, poor old Westover; he’s a gentleman!  You needn’t be worried about him—­”

“You’re not fit!” cried the girl.  “I give it up.”  She got upon her feet and stood a moment listless.

“No, I’m not, Bessie.  I can’t pull my mind together tonight.  But look here!” He seemed to lose what he wanted to say.  He asked:  “Is it something I’ve got you in for?  Do I understand that?”

“Partly,” she said.

“Well, then, I’ll help you out.  You can trust me, Bessie; you can, indeed.  You don’t believe it?”

“Oh, I believe you think I can trust you.”

“But this time you can.  If you need my help I will stand by you, right or wrong.  If you want to tell me now I’ll listen, and I’ll advise you the best I can—­”

“It’s just something I’ve got nervous about,” she said, while her eyes shone with sudden tears.  “But I won’t trouble you with it to-night.  There’s no such great hurry.  We can talk about it in the morning if you’re better then.  Oh, I forgot!  You’re going away!”

“No,” said the young man, with pathetic dignity, “I’m not going if you need my help.  But you’re right about me tonight, Bessie.  I’m not fit.  I’m afraid I can’t grasp anything to-night.  Tell me in the morning.  Oh, don’t be afraid!” he cried out at the glance she gave the decanters.  “That’s over, now; you could put them in my hands and be safe enough.  I’m going back to bed, and in the morning—­”

He rose and went toward the door.  “If that doctor’s man comes to-night you can send him away again.  He needn’t bother.”

“All right, Alan,” she said, fondly.  “Good-night.  Don’t worry about me.  Try to get some sleep.”

“And you must sleep, too.  You can trust me, Bessie.”

He came back after he got out of the room and looked in.  “Bess, if you’re anxious about it, if you don’t feel perfectly sure of me, you can take those things to your room with you.”  He indicated the decanters with a glance.