a half querulous, half sympathetic smile. She shook her head at
him.

"You've had one of those silly nervous attacks," she declared. "Tell me
at once why?"

"Dane is back--I saw him on the pavement this morning!" he exclaimed. "He
has been to England to find out!"

She made him sit down and seated herself by his side.

"Listen," she said, "Dane came back on the _Orinoco_, the day before
yesterday. I saw his name in the paper. If his voyage to England had been
a success, which it could not have been, you would have heard from him
before now."

"I didn't think of that," he muttered.

"I have never asked you," she went on, "to tell me exactly what happened
behind there. I don't want to know. Only I have a consciousness--I had
from the first, when you began to talk to me about it--that your fears
were exaggerated. If you have been allowed to remain safe all this time,
you will be safe always. I feel it, and I am always right in these
things. Now use your own common sense. Tell me truthfully, don't you
think it is very improbable that anything could be discovered?"

"That anything could be proved," he admitted eagerly, "yes!"

"Then don't be silly. No one is likely to make accusations and attempt a
case unless they had a definite end in view. We are safe even from the
_Elletania_ people. Mr. Raymond Greene has ceased to talk of your
wonderful resemblance to Douglas Romilly. Phoebe--the only one who could
really know--will never open her lips. Now take me for a little walk. We
will look in the shops in Fifth Avenue and lunch at the Ritz-Carlton. Go
and brush yourself and make yourself look respectable. I'll have a
cigarette and read the paper.... No, I won't, I'll look over these loose
sheets and see how you are getting on."

He disappeared into his room for a few minutes. When he returned she was
entirely engrossed. She looked up at him with something almost of
reverence in her face.

"When did you write this?" she asked.

"Yesterday, most of it," he answered. "There is more of it--I haven't
finished yet. When you send me away this afternoon, I shall go on. That
is only the beginning. I have a great idea dawning."

"What you have written is wonderful," she said simply. "It makes me feel
almost humble, makes me feel that the very best actress in the world
remains only an interpretress. Yes, I can say those words you have
written, but they can never be mine. I want to be something more than an
intelligent parro