lk
as if I were a child, Selwyn."

"You are a child in your knowledge of--of certain phases of life. If
I could only marry you tomorrow and take you away from here you
should never know them!"

"Well, you can't marry me to-morrow!" I made effort to laugh, but
Selwyn's face, his manner, frightened me. "I want to stay down here
and--and stop being as ignorant as a child of things women should
know. Behind the shelter of ignorance most women have already
shirked too long." I held out my hand, "If you stay a bit longer,
Selwyn, I'll say things I shouldn't. Goodnight."

With a shrug of his shoulders he went down the steps, and as I
watched him, for a moment I felt tempted to call him back. It was
not unusual for us to part indignant with each other. We invariably
clashed, disagreed, and argued hotly if we got on certain subjects,
but to-night I did not want him to leave angrily. Something had made
me afraid and uncertain and uneasy. I could not define, could only
feel it, and if Selwyn should fail me-- Shivering, I stood in the
doorway, and as I started to go in I noticed a young fellow across
the street under a tree, who seemed to be watching the house. He was
evidently nervous and moved restlessly in the small circle of the
shadow cast by the bare branches. Selwyn apparently did not see him,
and, crossing the street, was close upon him before he knew he was
there. To my astonishment I saw him start and stop, saw him take the
man by the arm.

"What in the name of Heaven--" In the still, cold air I could hear
distinctly. "Why are you down here this time of night? Where are
you going?"

If there was answer I could not hear it, but I could see the movement
of the young man's shoulders, could see him draw away and turn his
back to Selwyn. Putting his hands in his pockets, he started toward
the corner lighted by the flickering gas-jet, then turned and walked
to the one on which there was no light. Had I known him, I could not
have recognized him in the darkness, but he was evidently well known
to Selwyn, for together they went down the street and out of sight.
I wonder who he was.

For the first time since I came to Scarborough Square, Mrs. Mundy has
not been to-day her chatty self. She does not seem to want to
talk--that is of the girl I want to talk about. When, in my
sitting-room this morning, I asked her the girl's name she said she
did not know it, did not know where she lived, or what had happ