“Well?” he said.

“Well,” repeated Honora.

“Nice people,” said Mr. Brent.

Honora bridled.

“You invited them here,” she said.  “I must say I think it, was rather —­presumptuous.  And you’ve got me into no end of trouble with Lily Dallam.”

He laughed as he held open the screen door for her.

“I wonder whether a good angel was ever so abused,” he said.

“A good angel,” she repeated, smiling at him in spite of herself.

“Or knight-errant,” he continued, “whichever you choose.  You want to get out of Quicksands—­I’m trying to make it easy for you.  Before you leave you have to arrange some place to go.  Before we are off with the old we’d better be on with the new.”

“Oh, please don’t say such things,” she cried, “they’re so—­so sordid.”  She looked searchingly into his face.  “Do I really seem to you like that?”

Her lip was quivering, and she was still under the influence of the excitement which the visit of these people had brought about.

“No,” said Brent—­coming very close to her, “no, you don’t.  That’s the extraordinary part of it.  The trouble with you, Honora, is that you want something badly very badly—­and you haven’t yet found out what it is.

“And you won’t find out,” he added, “until you have tried everything.  Therefore am I a good Samaritan, or something like it.”

She looked at him with startled eyes, breathing deeply.

“I wonder if that is so!” she said, in a low voice.

“Not until you have had and broken every toy in the shop,” he declared.  “Out of the mouths of men of the world occasionally issues wisdom.  I’m going to help you get the toys.  Don’t you think I’m kind?”

“And isn’t this philanthropic mood a little new to you?” she asked.

“I thought I had exhausted all novelties,” he answered.  “Perhaps that’s the reason why I enjoy it.”

She turned and walked slowly into the drawing-room, halted, and stood staring at the heap of gold and yellow bills that Mr. Grainger had deposited in front of the place where she had sat.  Her sensation was akin to sickness.  She reached out with a kind of shuddering fascination and touched the gold.

“I think,” she said, speaking rather to herself than to Brent, “I’ll give it to charity.”

“If it is possible to combine a meritorious act with good policy, I should suggest giving it to Mrs. Grainger for the relief of oppressed working girls,” he said.

Honora started.

“I wonder why Howard doesn’t come she exclaimed, looking at the clock.

“Probably because he is holding nothing but full hands and flushes,” hazarded Mr. Brent.  “Might I propose myself for dinner?”

“When so many people are clamouring for you?” she asked.

“Even so,” he said.

“I think I’ll telephone to the Club,” said Honora, and left the room.