y of them to be thus
pleased. It is in small things that the deepest loyalty, that which they
need most, the loyalty of the passing moment, is best expressed.

She had remained thoughtful, letting her deep motionless eyes rest on the
streaming jumble of traffic. Suddenly she said:

"And I wanted to ask you . . . I was really glad when I saw you actually
here. Who would have expected you here, at this spot, before this hotel!
I certainly never . . . You see it meant a lot to me. You are the only
person who knows . . . who knows for certain . . . "

"Knows what?" I said, not discovering at first what she had in her mind.
Then I saw it. "Why can't you leave that alone?" I remonstrated, rather
annoyed at the invidious position she was forcing on me in a sense. "It's
true that I was the only person to see," I added. "But, as it happens,
after your mysterious disappearance I told the Fynes the story of our
meeting."

Her eyes raised to mine had an expression of dreamy, unfathomable
candour, if I dare say so. And if you wonder what I mean I can only say
that I have seen the sea wear such an expression on one or two occasions
shortly before sunrise on a calm, fresh day. She said as if meditating
aloud that she supposed the Fynes were not likely to talk about that. She
couldn't imagine any connection in which . . . Why should they?

As her tone had become interrogatory I assented. "To be sure. There's
no reason whatever--" thinking to myself that they would be more likely
indeed to keep quiet about it. They had other things to talk of. And
then remembering little Fyne stuck upstairs for an unconscionable time,
enough to blurt out everything he ever knew in his life, I reflected that
he would assume naturally that Captain Anthony had nothing to learn from
him about Flora de Barral. It had been up to now my assumption too. I
saw my mistake. The sincerest of women will make no unnecessary
confidences to a man. And this is as it should be.

"No--no!" I said reassuringly. "It's most unlikely. Are you much
concerned?"

"Well, you see, when I came down," she said again in that precise demure
tone, "when I came down--into the garden Captain Anthony misunderstood--"

"Of course he would. Men are so conceited," I said.

I saw it well enough that he must have thought she had come down to him.
What else could he have thought? And then he had been "gentleness
itself." A new experience for that poor, delicate,