Stella could not sleep at all after her return.

She lived in a little house with a big garden on the northern edge of London, and all night she lay awake, listening to the patter of rain on melancholy trees, and thinking and thinking.

Harry Luttrell kept her from the drugs in her dressing-case.

She had no anodyne for her sorrows--but one.
"You will laugh," said Stella with a little wry smile of her own, "when I tell you what it was.

It was a gramophone.