He was silent for several moments.

“How did you know I liked going to see your sister? " he asked, abruptly.

She smiled.

“My dear Leonard,” she said, “you are not very clever at hiding your feelings.  When you came to see me the other day, do you imagine I believed for a single moment that you asked me to marry you simply because you cared?  I think, Leonard, that it was because you were afraid, you were afraid of something coming into your life so big, so terrifying, that you were ready to clutch at the easiest chance of safety.”

“Beatrice, this is absurd!” he exclaimed.

She shook her head.

“No, it isn’t that,” she declared.  “Do you know, my dear Leonard, what there was about you from the very first which attracted me?”

“No,” he answered.

“It was your honesty,” she continued.  “You remember that night upon the roof at Blenheim House?  You were going to tell a lie for me, and I know how you hated it.  You love the truth, you are truthful naturally; I would rely upon you wherever I was.  I know that you would keep your word, I know that you would be honest.  A woman loves to feel that about a man—­she loves it—­and I don’t want you to be brought near the people who sneer at honesty and all good things.  I don’t want you to hear their point of view.  You may be simple and commonplace in some respects; I want you to stay just as you are.  Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Tavernake replied gravely.

A call boy shouted her name down the stone passage.  She patted him on the shoulder and turned away.

“Run along now and get the money,” she said.  “Come and see me when it’s all over.”

Tavernake left her with a long breath of relief and made his way towards the Strand.  At the corner of Wellington Street he came face to face with Pritchard.  They stopped at once.  There seemed to be something embarrassing about this meeting. lPritchard patted him familiarly on the shoulder.

“How goes it, old man?” he asked.

“I am all right,” Tavernake answered, somewhat awkwardly.  “How are you?”

“I guess I’d be the better for a drink,” Pritchard declared.  “Come along.  Pretty well done up the other night, weren’t we?  We’ll step into the American Bar here and try a gin fizz.”

They found themselves presently perched upon two high stools in a deserted corner of the bar to which Pritchard had led the way.  Tavernake sipped his drink tentatively.

“I should like,” he said, “to ask you a question or two about Wednesday night.”

Pritchard nodded.

“Go right ahead,” he invited.

“You seem to take the whole affair as a sort of joke,” Tavernake remarked.

“Well, isn’t that what it was?” the detective asked, smiling.

Tavernake shrugged his shoulders.

“There didn’t seem to me to be much joke about it!” he exclaimed.