She did so, almost reluctantly, as though doubting my sanity, but I could note a change in the expression of her face as I proceeded.  I told it slowly, carefully, pausing to explain each detail to her questioning, yet was not interrupted more than once or twice.  Somehow, as I thus repeated the proposed scheme to another it did not appear quite as easy, or honorable, as when I faced it alone.  However, I struggled through, painting the affair as well as I could, but without daring to propose her cooperation.  Her wide-open eyes on my face gave me a thrill of apprehension I could not analyze.

“That ’s the whole story,” I ended, rather lamely.

“What do you think of it?”

“I—­I hardly know,” with slow hesitation.  “It is very strange.  Tell me the young man’s name again.”

“Henley—­Philip Henley.”

“And the town?”

“Carrollton, Alabama.”

“And he is in prison for crime, you say—­what crime?”

“Forgery, a fourteen-year sentence.”

“Did they tell you when he was sent there?”

“No; I believe not.”

“And his wife has disappeared?  They can find no trace of her?”

“So both men assured me.”

“And this one named Neale—­are you certain he is an administrator?”

“Yes, I was shown a certified copy of the will; everything seemed to be exactly as represented.”

She pressed one hand to her forehead, her eyes on the ground.  I watched her, an unasked question trembling on my lips.  Suddenly she looked up again, her cheeks flushed.

“You were going to suggest that I go with you, were you not?” she asked swiftly.  “That I play the wife’s part?  Why did n’t you ask it?”

“Because I lacked courage,” I replied frankly, yet leaning eagerly toward her.  “I was afraid you would take such a proposition wrongly.”

“Then you retain some respect for me; some faith in my character?”

“I certainly do,” earnestly.

“And you see nothing wrong in carrying out your part?  You mean to go to Carrollton with someone—­a woman?”

“I—­I agreed to the terms—­yes.”

She drew a long breath, her eyes upon mine.

“Then I will go also,” she said soberly, and held out her hand.

“You mean that?”

“Yes—­why not?  Surely it is as right for me as for you.  You wished me to say yes, did you not?”

My face must have answered, as my lips failed, but she went on swiftly: 

“Then I will go; only remember it is acting, a mere play in which I have a certain part to perform.  We are to be friends throughout it all—­actors on the stage.  There must be no misunderstanding about this.”

I had recovered my voice now, realizing all she meant, and anxious to reassure her.

“Certainly.  There will be no mistake, Mrs. Bernard.  That was why I hesitated to ask you, for fear you might misinterpret my purpose.  You are the very woman to do this.  I dreaded to have with me the kind Vail would have sent.  I am delighted—­truly I am, and nothing shall occur to cause you any regret.”