, that they want her back again."

"As a pupil still?" Mabane asked.

"They would train her for a teacher. In that case she would have to
serve a sort of novitiate. She would practically become a nun."

Mabane withdrew his pipe from his mouth, and looked thoughtfully into
the bowl of it.

"I never had a sister," he said, "and I really know nothing whatever
about children. But does it occur to you, Arnold, that this--young lady
seems particularly adapted for a convent?"

"I believe," I said firmly, "that it would be misery for her."

Mabane walked over to his canvas and came back again.

"What about Delahaye?" he asked.

"He is still unconscious at the hospital," I answered.

Mabane hesitated.

"I do not wish to seem intrusive, Arnold," he said, "but I can't help
remembering that a certain lady with whom you were very friendly once
married a Delahaye!"

I nodded.

"I should have told you, in any case," I said. "This is the man--Major
Sir William Delahaye, whom Eileen Marigold married."

"Then surely you recognized him in the restaurant?"

"I never met him," I answered. "This marriage was arranged very quickly,
as you know, and I was abroad when it took place. I called on Lady
Delahaye twice, but I did not meet her husband on either occasion."

Mabane fingered the loose sheets of my manuscript idly.

"Your story, Arnold," he said, "is having a tragic birth. Will Delahaye
really die, do you think?"

"The doctors are not very hopeful," I told him. "The wound itself is not
mortal, but the shock seems to have affected him seriously. He is not a
young man, and he has lived hard all his days."

"If he dies," Mabane said thoughtfully, "your friend Grooten, I think
you said he called himself, will have to disappear altogether. In that
case I suppose we--shall be compelled to send the child back to the
convent?"

"Unless----"

"Unless what?"

"Unless we provide for her ourselves," I answered boldly.

Mabane smoked furiously for a few moments. His hands were thrust deep
down in his trousers pockets. He looked fixedly out of the window.

"Arnold," he said abruptly, "do you believe in presentiments?"

"It depends whether they affect me favourably or the reverse," I
answered carelessly. "You Scotchmen are all so superstitious."

"You may call it superstition," Mabane continued. "Everything of the
sort which an ignorant man cannot understand he calls superstition. But
if you like, I will tell you somethi