u say that to everything. It's getting
rather monotonous. And I'm sure I'm very patient. You'll grant me that,
at least?"

He turned his ice-blue eyes upon her.

"I am not good at paying compliments, Miss Mortimer," he said cynically.
"Twelve years in prison have rusted all my little accomplishments."

She met his look with a smile, though her lips were quivering still.

"My! What a pity!" she said. "Has your heart got rusty, too?"

"Very," said West shortly.

"Can't you rub it off?" she questioned.

He uttered his ironic laugh.

"There wouldn't be anything left if I did."

"No?" she said whimsically. "Well, give it to me, and let me see what I
can do!"

His eyes fell away from her, and the grim line of his jaw hardened
perceptibly.

"That would be too hard a job even for you!" he said.

She rose and put out her free hand to him. Her eyes were very soft and
womanly. A quaint little smile yet hovered about her lips.

"I guess I'll have a try," she said gently.

He did not touch her hand, nor would he again meet her eyes.

"A hopeless task, I am afraid," he said. "And utterly unprofitable to
all concerned. I am not a deserving object for your charity."

She laughed a trifle breathlessly.

"Say, Mr. West, couldn't you put that into words of one syllable? You
try, and perhaps then I'll listen to you, and give you my views as
well."

But West remained rigorously unresponsive. It was as if he were thinking
of other things.

Cynthia uttered a little sigh and turned to go.

"Good-bye, Mr. West!" she said.

He went with her to the door.

"Shall I walk back with you?" he asked formally.

She shook her head.

"No. I'm better now, and it's quite light still beyond the trees.
Good-bye, and--thank you!"

"Good-bye!" he said.

He followed her to the gate, opened it for her, and stood there watching
till he saw her emerge from the shadow cast by the overarching trees.
Then--for he knew that the rest of the journey was no more than a few
minutes' easy walk--he turned back into the house, and shut himself in.

Entering the room he had just quitted, he locked the door, and there he
remained for a long, long time.

VII

It was not till she descended to dinner that Cynthia's injured hand was
noticed.

She resolutely made light of it to all sympathisers but it was plain to
Babbacombe, at least, that it gave her considerable pain.

"Let me send for a doctor," he whispered, as she finally passe