to come here he
will, of course, be able to find her. I'm afraid he will pursue her
again. Have I made it clear to you?"

"No," said Mr. Stone.

"The man," resumed Hilary patiently, "is a poor, violent creature, who
has been wounded in the head; he is not quite responsible. He may do the
girl an injury."

"What injury?"

"He has stabbed his wife already."

"I will speak to him," said Mr. Stone.

Hilary smiled. "I am afraid that words will hardly meet the case. She
ought to disappear."

There was silence.

"My book!" said Mr. Stone.

It smote Hilary to see how white his face had become. 'It's better,' he
thought, 'to bring his will-power into play; she will never come here,
anyway, after I'm gone.'

But, unable to bear the tragedy in the old man's eyes, he touched him on
the arm.

"Perhaps she will take the risk, sir, if you ask her."

Mr. Stone did not answer, and, not knowing what more to say, Hilary went
back to the window. Miranda was slumbering lightly out there in the
speckled shade, where it was not too warm and not too cold, her cheek
resting on her paw and white teeth showing.

Mr. Stone's voice rose again. "You are right; I cannot ask her to run a
risk like that!"

"She is just coming up the garden," Hilary said huskily. "Shall I tell
her to come in?"

"Yes," said Mr. Stone.

Hilary beckoned.

The girl came in, carrying a tiny bunch of lilies of the valley; her face
fell at sight of Mr. Stone; she stood still, raising the lilies to her
breast. Nothing could have been more striking than the change from her
look of guttered expectancy to a sort of hard dismay. A spot of red came
into both her cheeks. She gazed from Mr. Stone to Hilary and back again.
Both were staring at her. No one spoke. The little model's bosom began
heaving as though she had been running; she said faintly: "Look; I
brought you this, Mr. Stone!" and held out to him the bunch of lilies.
But Mr. Stone made no sign. "Don't you like them?"

Mr. Stone's eyes remained fastened on her face.

To Hilary this suspense was, evidently, most distressing. "Come, will
you tell her, sir," he said, "or shall I?"

Mr. Stone spoke.

"I shall try and write my book without you. You must not run this risk.
I cannot allow it."

The little model turned her eyes from side to side. "But I like to copy
out your book," she said.

"The man will injure you," said Mr. Stone.

The little model looked at Hilary.

"I don't