ort of thing."

She shrugged her shoulders slightly. Some of the delicate colour which
the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned.

"It is an annoyance, my friend," she said, "not a tragedy."

"It might become one," he answered. "The man is dangerous."

She looked thoughtfully into the fire.

"I am afraid," she said, "that he must have a skeleton key to these
rooms. If so I shall have to leave."

"You cannot play at hide-and-seek with this creature all your life,"
he answered. "Let your friends act for you. There must be ways of
getting rid of him."

"I am afraid," she murmured, "that it would be difficult. He really
deserves a better fate, does he not? He is so beautifully persistent."

He drew a little nearer to her. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the
dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted
face. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers--she turned at
once to look at him. Her eyes were perhaps a little brighter than
usual, the firelight played about her hair, there seemed to him to be
a sudden softening of the straight firm mouth. Nevertheless she
withdrew her hand.

"Let me help you," he begged. "Indeed, you could have no more faithful
friend, you could find no one more anxious to serve you."

Her hand fell back into her lap. He touched it again, and this time it
was not withdrawn.

"That is very nice of you," she said. "But it is so difficult----"

"Not at all," he answered eagerly. "I wish you would come and see my
lawyers. Of course I know nothing of what really did happen in
Paris--if even you ever saw him there. You need not tell me, but a
lawyer is different. His client's story is safe with him. He would
advise you how to get rid of the fellow."

"I will think of it," she promised.

"You must do more than think of it," he urged. "It is intolerable that
you should be followed about by such a creature. I am sure that he can
be got rid of."

She turned and looked at him. Her face scarcely reflected his
enthusiasm.

"It may be more difficult than you think," she said. "You see you do
not know how much of truth there is in his story."

"If it were all true," he said doggedly, "it may still be possible."

"I will think of it," she repeated. "I cannot say more."

They talked for a while in somewhat dreamy fashion, Anna especially
being more silent than usual. At last she glanced at a little clock in
the corner of the room, and spra