He looked at her with utterly impassive face.

“I am afraid, Miss Longworth,” he said, “that I must disappoint you.  If I gave you back that paper, it would go into the hands of one of the most unprincipled men in America.  It is not only your uncle whom I dislike, but his methods, his craft, his infernal, incarnate selfishness.  He wants this paper as a whip to hold over other people.  He obtained it by subtlety.  The means by which it was taken from him, although I had nothing to do with them, were on the whole justified.  I cannot give it back to you, Miss Longworth.  I have not made up my mind yet what to do with it, and I certainly have no friendship for the men whom it implicates; but all the same, for the present it must remain in my possession.”

“Do you know,” she reminded him, “that I have saved your life to-night?”

He laughed softly.

“My dear child,” he said, “my life is not so easily disposed of.  I believe that you have tried to do me a kindness, but you ask too great a return.  Even if the paper you speak of was stolen, it is better in my keeping than in your uncle’s.”

“You will not give it to me, then?” she asked.

“I will not,” he answered.

She rose from her place.

“Very well,” she said; “I am going now, but I think that we shall meet again before very long.”

He opened the door for her and walked out toward the lift.

“My dear young lady,” he said, “I hope you will forgive my saying so, but this is certainly a wild-goose chase of yours.  If you will take my advice, and I know something about life, you will go back to your farmhouse in the Connecticut valley.  These larger places in the world may seem fascinating to you at first, but believe me you will be better off and happier in the backwoods.  Ask Stella.  I think that she would give you the same advice.”

Virginia looked at him steadily.  The faint note of sarcasm which was seldom absent from his tone was not lost upon her.

“I thank you for your advice,” she said, “It sounds so disinterested—­and convincing.  Such an excellent return, too, for a person who has risked something to do you a kindness.”

“My dear young lady,” Vine answered, “it was not for my own sake that you warned me.  You have admitted that yourself.  It was entirely from your own point of view that you judged it well for me to remain a little longer on the earth.  Why, therefore, should I be grateful?  As a matter of fact, I am not sure that I am.  I, too, go about armed, and it is by no means certain that I might not have had the best of any little encounter with our friend who you say was hiding there.”—­He motioned his head towards his bedroom.—­“In that case, you see, I should have known exactly who he was, possibly even have been able to hand him over to the police.”

Virginia pressed the little bell and the lift began to ascend.

“I am glad to know, Mr. Vine,” she said, “what sort of a man you are.”