le for you to know, and Elizabeth--well she hasn't very much
heart."

He was silent for several moments.

"How did you know I liked going to see your sister?" he asked,
abruptly.

She smiled.

"My dear Leonard," she said, "you are not very clever at hiding your
feelings. When you came to see me the other day, do you imagine I
believed for a single moment that you asked me to marry you simply
because you cared? I think, Leonard, that it was because you were
afraid, you were afraid of something coming into your life so big,
so terrifying, that you were ready to clutch at the easiest chance of
safety."

"Beatrice, this is absurd!" he exclaimed.

She shook her head.

"No, it isn't that," she declared. "Do you know, my dear Leonard, what
there was about you from the very first which attracted me?"

"No," he answered.

"It was your honesty," she continued. "You remember that night upon the
roof at Blenheim House? You were going to tell a lie for me, and I know
how you hated it. You love the truth, you are truthful naturally; I
would rely upon you wherever I was. I know that you would keep your
word, I know that you would be honest. A woman loves to feel that about
a man--she loves it--and I don't want you to be brought near the people
who sneer at honesty and all good things. I don't want you to hear their
point of view. You may be simple and commonplace in some respects; I
want you to stay just as you are. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Tavernake replied gravely.

A call boy shouted her name down the stone passage. She patted him on
the shoulder and turned away.

"Run along now and get the money," she said. "Come and see me when it's
all over."

Tavernake left her with a long breath of relief and made his way towards
the Strand. At the corner of Wellington Street he came face to face
with Pritchard. They stopped at once. There seemed to be something
embarrassing about this meeting. Pritchard patted him familiarly on the
shoulder.

"How goes it, old man?" he asked.

"I am all right," Tavernake answered, somewhat awkwardly. "How are you?"

"I guess I'd be the better for a drink," Pritchard declared. "Come
along. Pretty well done up the other night, weren't we? We'll step into
the American Bar here and try a gin fizz."

They found themselves presently perched upon two high stools in a
deserted corner of the bar to which Pritchard had led the way. Tavernake
sipped his drink tentatively.

"I should