; her eyes were suddenly full of
terror.

"You mustn't talk about Elizabeth," she begged, "you please mustn't talk
about her. Promise that you won't."

"But I came here to talk about her," he replied.

Beatrice, for a moment, said nothing. Then she threw down his hands and
laughed once more. As she flung herself back in her place, it seemed to
Tavernake that he saw once more the girl who had stood upon the roof of
the boarding-house.

"You came to talk about Elizabeth!" she exclaimed. "I forgot. Well, go
on, what is it?"

"Your sister is in trouble!"

"Are you her confidant?" Beatrice asked.

"I am not exactly that," he admitted, "but she has asked me to come and
see you."

Beatrice had suddenly grown hard, her lips were set together, even her
attitude was uncompromising.

"Say exactly what you have to say," she told him. "I will not
interrupt."

"It sounds foolish," Tavernake declared, "because I know so little, but
it seems that your sister is being annoyed by a man named Pritchard, an
American detective. She tells me that he suspects her of being concerned
in some way with the disappearance of her husband. One of his reasons is
that you left her abruptly and went into hiding, that you will not see
or speak to her. She wishes you to be reconciled."

"Is that all?" Beatrice asked.

"It is all," he replied, "so long as you understand its significance.
If you go to see your sister, or let her come to see you, this man
Pritchard will have one of his causes for suspicion removed."

"So you came as Elizabeth's ambassador," Beatrice said, half as though
to herself. "Well, here is my answer. I will not go to Elizabeth. If she
finds out my whereabouts and comes here, then I shall go away again and
hide. I shall never willingly exchange another word with her as long as
I live."

Tavernake looked at her doubtfully.

"But she is your sister!" he explained.

"She is my sister," Beatrice repeated, "and yet what I have said to you
I mean."

There was a short silence. Tavernake felt unaccountably ill at ease.
Something had sprung up between them which he did not understand. He was
swift to recognize, however, the note of absolute finality in her tone.

"I have given my message," he declared. "I shall tell her what you say.
Perhaps I had better go now."

He half rose to his feet. Suddenly she lost control of herself.

"Leonard, Leonard," she cried, "don't you see that you are being very
foolish indeed? You