n the care of the child, and I can assure
you, in case you should have any anxieties concerning her, that she will
be as safe under our charge as in your own."

Lady Delahaye moved towards the door. On the threshold she turned and
laid her hand upon my arm. I was preparing to show her out. There was
meaning in her eyes as she leaned towards me.

"Mr. Greatson," she said, "we were once friends, or I should drive
straight from here to my solicitors. I presume you are aware that your
present attitude is capable of very serious misrepresentation?"

"I must take the risk of that, Lady Delahaye," I answered. "I ask you to
remember, however, that the law would also require you to prove your
guardianship. Do you yourself know anything of the child's parentage?"

She did not answer me directly.

"I shall give you," she said, "twenty-four hours for reflection. At the
end of that time, if I do not hear from you, I shall apply to the
courts."

I held the door open and bowed.

"You will doubtless act," I said, "according to your discretion."

The moment seemed propitious for her departure. All that had to be said
had surely passed between us. Yet she seemed for some reason unwilling
to go.

"I am not sure, Mr. Greatson," she said, "that I can find my way out.
Will you be so good as to see me to my carriage?"

I had no alternative but to obey. Our rooms were on the fifth floor of a
block of flats overlooking Chelsea Embankment, and we had no lift. We
descended two flights of the stone stairs in silence. Then she suddenly
laid her fingers upon my arm.

"Arnold," she said softly, "I never thought that we should meet again
like this."

"Nor I, Lady Delahaye," I answered, truthfully enough.

"You have changed."

I looked at her. She had the grace to blush.

"Oh, I know that I behaved badly," she murmured, "but think how poor we
were, and oh, how weary I was of poverty. If I had refused Major
Delahaye I think that my mother would have turned me out of doors. I
wrote and told you all about it."

"Yes," I admitted, "you wrote!"

"And you never answered my letter."

"It seemed to me," I remarked, "that it needed no answer."

"And afterwards," she said, "I wrote and asked you to come and see me."

"Lady Delahaye----" I began.

"Eileen!" she interrupted.

"Very well, then, if you will have it so, Eileen," I said. "You have
alluded to events which I have forgotten. Whether you or I behaved well
or ill does not matte