Besides"-- the young man appealed to the company, smiling--"besides, what a pity to postpone matters, and spoil the occasion, when Doctor Chantel has gone to the trouble of a clean shirt." The doctor recoiled, flung up a trembling arm, and as quickly dropped it.

His handsome face burned darker, then faded with a mortal pallor, and for one rigid moment, took on such a strange beauty as though it were about to be translated into bronze.

His brown fingers twitched, became all nerves and sinews and white knuckles.

Then, stepping backward, he withdrew from the circle.
"Very well," he said lightly.

"Since we are all so--irregular.