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`I resumed my seat, and…and…sat up staring and blinking, at a tall man with red hair. “I must have fallen asleep,” I said. “Yessir,” he replied; and his toneless voice touched in me one or two springs of memory: I was at Keeb; this was the footman who looked after me. But- -why wasn’t I in bed? Had I–no, surely it had been no nightmare. Surely I had SEEN Braxton on that white bed.

`The footman was impassively putting away my smoking-suit. I was too dazed to wonder what he thought of me. Nor did I attempt to stifle a cry when, a moment later, turning in my chair, I beheld Braxton leaning moodily against the mantelpiece. “Are you unwellsir?” asked the footman. “No,” I said faintly, “I’m quite well.”–“Yessir. Will you wear the blue suit or the grey?”–“The grey.”–“Yessir.”–It seemed almost incredible that HE didn’t see Braxton; HE didn’t appear to me one whit more solid than the night-shirted brute who stood against the mantelpiece and watched him lay out my things.–“Shall I let your bath-water run nowsir?”–“Please, yes.”–“Your bathroom’s the second door to the left sir.”–He went out with my bath-towel and sponge, leaving me alone with Braxton.

`I rose to my feet, mustering once more all the strength that was in me. Hoping against hope, with set teeth and clenched hands, I faced him, thrust forth my will at him, with everything but words commanded him to vanish–to cease to be.

`Suddenly, utterly, he vanished. And you can imagine the truly exquisite sense of triumph that thrilled me and continued to thrill me till I went into the bathroom and found him in my bath.

`Quivering with rage, I returned to my bedroom. “Intolerable,” I heard myself repeating like a parrot that knew no other word. A bath was just what I had needed. Could I have lain for a long time basking in very hot water, and then have sponged myself with cold water, I should have emerged calm and brave; comparatively so, at any rate. I should have looked less ghastly, and have had less of a headache, and something of an appetite, when I went down to breakfast. Also, I shouldn’t have been the very first guest to appear on the scene. There were five or six round tables, instead of last night’s long table. At the further end of the room the butler and two other servants were lighting the little lamps under the hot dishes. I didn’t like to make myself ridiculous by running away. On the other hand, was it right for me to begin breakfast all by myself at one of these round tables? I supposed it was. But I dreaded to be found eating, alone in that vast room, by the first downcomer. I sat dallying with dry toast and watching the door. It occurred to me that Braxton might occur at any moment. Should I be able to ignore him?

`Some man and wife–a very handsome couple–were the first to appear. They nodded and said “good morning” when they noticed me on their way to the hot dishes. I rose–uncomfortably, guiltily–and sat down again. I rose again when the wife drifted to my table, followed by the husband with two steaming plates. She asked me if it wasn’t a heavenly morning, and I replied with nervous enthusiasm that it was. She then ate kedgeree in silence. “You just finishing, what?” the husband asked, looking at my plate. “Oh, no–no–only just beginning,” I assured him, and helped myself to butter. He then ate kedgeree in silence. He looked like some splendid bull, and she like some splendid cow, grazing. I envied them their eupeptic calm. I surmised that ten thousand Braxtons would not have prevented THEM from sleeping soundly by night and grazing steadily by day. Perhaps their stolidity infected me a little. Or perhaps what braced me was the great quantity of strong tea that I consumed. Anyhow I had begun to feel that if Braxton came in now I shouldn’t blench nor falter.