as she did.  Just so, however, he had reasoned about McVay, and yet McVay had been sincere.  There had been a girl in distress exactly as he had said.  It was contrary to all reason, but it was true.  Might not the girl be true too?  Was it not possible, he asked himself, and answered that it was more than possible, it was the truth.  He chose to believe in her, and turned his anger against McVay, who could drag her through such a mire.  He felt the tragedy of a high-minded woman tricked out in stolen finery, and remembered with a pang that he himself was hurrying on the moment of disillusion.

“I wonder,” she said, “if I could take some things with me.  Is it impossible for me to carry a bag?”

“Yes, but not for me.”

“It would be only this.”  She held up a small Russia leather affair legibly marked with Mrs. Inness’ initials.

“I will take it,” said Geoffrey.  His faith was sorely tried.

She moved about collecting things and packing, and presently remarked: 

“But if Billy is all right, why didn’t he come for me himself?”

“Oh, because—­” Geoffrey hesitated an instant, and her fears interpreted the pause.

“He’s hurt.  You are keeping it from me.  You are deceiving me.”

“I would scorn to deceive you,” said Geoffrey with passion, and looked at her to find some answer to the reverse question which he did not put into words.

She did not appear to understand.  “Then why didn’t he come?” she asked.

“He had been out in the storm already.  I thought it was my turn.”

“I think you must be stronger than Billy.”  She cast a reflective glance at his shoulders, and he was ashamed to find himself inordinately flattered.

“He is really safe at your house?”

“I hope so, I did my best,” he returned grimly.

She looked at him gravely.  “You have been very kind to a stranger,” she said.

And at this point Geoffrey made the fatal mistake of his dealing with her.  It did not occur to him that he was going to shield McVay, but he thought a more advantageous time could be found for telling her the truth, in case of course she did not know it already.  He felt that he himself would be better able to deal a cold blow when she was warm and sheltered.  No man, he said to himself, could be disagreeable to a girl who had no one to depend on but himself.  So he said: 

“He was not exactly a stranger to me.  We were at school together.”

“Oh, another of Billy’s friends.  I never knew such a person for discovering friends at the most opportune times.  He never wants anything but what a friend turns up.  Did you find him wandering about, or did he come and demand admittance?”

“Why, neither exactly.  I was not in the house at the time.  He felt he knew me well enough to walk in.”

“He never told me he had a friend in the neighbourhood.”

“We have not met since we were at school.”