another thing, Roddy," she said at length; "and it's
as true and truer. No woman thinks worse of a man for burning his
boats. . . . But it isn't quite worldly success to be wrecked and
left desolate on an island three hundred miles from anywhere.
It all started (as you hinted) with my pitying him and admiring his
strength of will after the awful experience he had tholed."

"He left you just now? I saw him drive away, and his infernal dog
with him."

"Yes: there had been a pretty bad scene. I was furious, and Mamma
was so much upset that I doubt if she'll be fit to talk to-night.
But it's a blessed relief to her, now that she knows you are anchored
here for a while, to protect us, and that, at the worst, we can ring
up Jermyn Street."

"Why," I exclaimed, "what the devil is there to protect you from?"

"Jack--Mr. Foe, that is--has been watching this house for days.
He haunts the pavement opposite, all the hours he is off duty.
Mamma is sure that he means evil, and I wish I was sure that he
didn't. He has gone under, Roddy. It is awful to look out, as
Furnilove draws the blinds, and see that figure there stationed,
reproaching us--yet for what harm that we have done him? He is even
ragged. . . . I should not be surprised to hear he was starving.
Yet what can we do?"

"Tell me his address," said I.

She hesitated. "Why should you suppose that I know his address?" she
asked, shading her face.

But I took her up bluntly. "I am sorry," I said, "to be discharging
apophthegms upon you to-night: but you must hear just one other.
Every woman follows and traces a man who has once laid his heart on
her altar. I am sorry, Con, to call up an instance from so far back
in the past: but you knew where to 'phone even for me, this morning.
. . . So own up, child, and tell me, where is Foe?"

"I believe," she answered after a while, the handscreen hiding her
face, "he has found work in one of these emergency hospitals they are
putting up. . . . It's at a place called Casterville Gardens, down by
Gravesend. When first he started watching this house, he was in
rags; but for the last fortnight he has worn khaki, and it improves
his appearance wonderfully. . . . Besides, when a man is in the army,
you have the comfort to know that, at least, he isn't starving."

"Was it so bad as that?" I asked. "Well, and now about Farrell?"

"Ah!" said she, "when you saw him get into that taxi, I had dismissed
him. He was going--o