agreed, did we not, to be
friends? It is possible you may find our friendship one of deeds,
not words alone."

"There is nothing I ask for more sincerely," he declared.

"To begin with, then," she went on, "I do not wish that you call me
Mrs. Weatherley. The name annoys me. It reminds me of things which
at times it is a joy to me to forget. You shall call me Fenella, and
I shall call you Arnold."

"Fenella," he repeated, half to himself.

She nodded.

"Well, then, that is arranged. Now for the first thing I have to ask
of you. If Mr. Rosario comes, I do not wish that message from my
husband to be delivered."

Arnold frowned slightly.

"Isn't that a little difficult?" he protested. "Mr. Weatherley has
sent me up here for no other reason. He has given me an exact
commission, has told me even the words I am to use. What excuse can
I possibly make?"

She smiled.

"You shall be relieved of all responsibility," she declared. "If I
tell my husband that I do not wish you to obey his bidding, that
will be sufficient. It is a matter of which my husband understands
little. There are people whose interest it is to protect Rosario. It
is they who have spoken, without a doubt, this morning through the
telephone, but my husband does not understand. Rosario must take
care of himself. He runs his own risks. He is a man, and he knows
very well what he is doing."

Arnold looked at her thoughtfully.

"Do you seriously suppose, then," he asked, "that the object of my
message is to bid Mr. Rosario keep away from here because of some
actual danger?"

"Why not? Mr. Rosario has chosen to interfere in a very difficult
and dangerous matter. He runs his own risks and he asks for a big
reward. It is not our place to protect him."

She raised her veil and he looked at her closely. She was still as
beautiful as he had thought her last night, but her complexion was
pallid almost to fragility, and there were faint violet lines under
her eyes.

"You have not slept," he said. "It was the fear of last night."

"I slept badly," she admitted, "but that passes. This afternoon I
shall rest."

"I cannot help thinking," he went on, "about those men who watched
the house last night. They could have been after no good. I wish you
would let me go to the police-station. Or would you like me to come
and watch myself, to-night or to-morrow night, to see if they come
again?"

She shook her head firmly.

"No!" she decided. "It wouldn't do an