unjust at all," she replied brusquely. "I've told them all
lies and I've got to pay for them. I came to you--well, there really
wasn't anything else left for me to do, was there? I hope you don't
think that I am horribly forward. I am quite willing to admit that
I like you, that I liked you from the first moment we met at Lady
Anselman's luncheon. At the same time, if that awful night hadn't
changed everything, I should have behaved just like any other stupidly
and properly brought-up young woman--waited and hoped and made an idiot
of myself whenever you were around, and in the end, I suppose, been
disappointed. You see, fate has rather changed that. I had to invent our
engagement to save you--and here I am," she added, with a little nervous
laugh, turning her head as the door opened.

Jarvis entered with the sandwiches and arranged them on a small table
by her side. Granet poured out the wine for her, mixed himself a
whiskey-and-soda and took a sandwich also from the plate.

"Now tell me," he began, as soon as Jarvis had disappeared, "what is
there at the back of your mind about my presence there at Market Burnham
that night?"

She laid down her sandwich. For the first time her voice trembled.
Granet realised that beneath all this quietness of demeanour a volcano
was threatening.

"I have told you that I do not want to think of that night," she said
firmly. "I simply do not understand."

"You have something in your mind?" he persisted. "You don't believe,
really, that that man Collins, who was found shot--"

She glanced at the door.

"I couldn't sleep that night," she interrupted. "I heard your car
arrive, I saw you both together, you and the man who was shot. I
saw--more than that. I hadn't meant to tell you this but perhaps it
is best. I ask you for no explanation. You see, I am something of an
individualist. I just want one thing, and about the rest I simply don't
care. To me, to myself, to my own future, to my own happiness the rest
is very slight, and I never pretend to be anything else but a very
selfish person. Only you know now that I have lied, badly."

"I understand," he said. "Finish your sandwiches and I will take you to
your aunt's. To-morrow I will write to your father."

She drew a little sigh.

"I will do whatever you say," she agreed, "only--please look at me."

He stooped down a little. She seized his wrists, her voice was suddenly
hoarse.

"You weren't pretending altogether?" she plea