e, wearing a white
rose, to pass through the foyer. That was his way of finding out if she'd
suit. Jove, how beastly it does sound, put into words, and confessed to
_you_! But you said I must go on."

"Yes--go on," Annesley breathed.

"You were about one hundred times better than my highest hopes. And
seeing what you were, I was glad I'd thought out that plan. Even then, it
was borne in on me that it wouldn't be long before I found myself falling
in love, if I had the luck to secure you. And from that minute the
business turned into an exciting play for me, just as I meant to make it
for you. I let you wait for a while, but if you'd showed any signs of
vanishing I'd have stepped up. I'd got a trick ready for that emergency.

"But I hoped you'd follow instructions and go to the restaurant. Once
there, I was sure the head-waiter'd persuade you to sit down at a table;
and the rest went exactly as I planned. The two men we called the
'watchers' used to be vaudeville actors--did a turn together, and their
specialty was lightning changes. Their make-ups, even at short notice,
could fool Sherlock Holmes. Even though you despise me for it, Anita, you
must admit it was a smart way to make you take an interest, and prove
your character.

"Lord, but you stood the test! I wouldn't have given you up at any price
then, even if I hadn't begun falling in love. I saw how good you were;
and in that taxi going to Torrington Square I felt mean as dirt for
tricking you. But of course I had to go on as I'd begun.

"At first I thought it was luck, tumbling into the same house with
Ruthven Smith; but now I see it was the devil's luck. If it hadn't been
for Ruthven Smith I might have gone on living the part I played. You need
never have known the truth. And I swear to you, Annesley, I'd made up my
mind, after finishing off my work with the men who are with me, that I'd
run straight for the rest of my days. The business was making me sick,
for being close to your goodness threw a light into dark places.

"By heaven, Anita, it does seem hard, just as I was near to being the man
you thought me, that that dried-up curmudgeon Ruthven Smith should call
my hand and make me show you the man I was! But I can't help seeing
there's a kind of--what they call poetical justice in it, the blow coming
from him. I've always been like that: seeing both sides of a thing even
when I wanted to see only one. But if _you_ can see both sides, you will
make the g