“May I ask,” he inquired, at last, “what you mean by the ‘truth’ that you refer to?”

“I mean,” I said, “the cause of the infant’s affliction.”

His composure was a thing to wonder at.  He did not show by the flicker of an eyelash any sign of uneasiness.

“Let me explain one thing,” I continued.  “I owe it to Dr. Perrin to make clear that he had nothing whatever to do with my coming into possession of the secret.  In fact, as he will no doubt tell you, I knew it before he did; it is possible that you owe it to me that the infant is not disfigured as well as blind.”

I paused again.  “If that be true,” he said, with unshaken formality, “I am obliged to you.”  What a man!

I continued:  “My one desire and purpose is to protect my friend.  So far, the secret has been kept from her.  I consented to this, because her very life was at stake, it seemed to us all.  But now she is well enough to know, and the question is SHALL she know.  I need hardly tell you that Dr. Perrin thinks she should not, and that he has been using his influence to persuade me to agree with him; so also has Mrs. Tuis——­”

Then I saw the first trace of uncertainty in his eyes.  “There was a critical time,” I explained, “when Mrs. Tuis had to be told.  You may be sure, however, that no hint of the truth will be given by her.  I am the only person who is troubled with the problem of Sylvia’s rights.”

I waited.  “May I suggest, Mrs.—­Mrs. Abbott—­that the protection of Mrs. van Tuiver’s rights can be safely left to her physicians and her husband?”

“One would wish so, Mr. van Tuiver, but the medical books are full of evidence that women’s rights frequently need other protection.”

I perceived that he was nearing the end of his patience now.  “You make it difficult for me to talk to you,” he said.  “I am not accustomed to having my affairs taken out of my hands by strangers.”

“Mr. van Tuiver,” I replied, “in this most critical matter it is necessary to speak without evasion.  Before her marriage Sylvia made an attempt to safeguard herself in this very matter, and she was not dealt with fairly.”

At last I had made a hole in the mask!  His face was crimson as he replied:  “Madam, your knowledge of my private affairs is most astonishing.  May I inquire how you learned these things?”

I did not reply at once, and he repeated the question.  I perceived that this was to him the most important matter—­his wife’s lack of reserve!

“The problem that concerns us here,” I said, “is whether you are willing to repair the error you made.  Will you go frankly to your wife and admit your responsibility——­”

He broke in, angrily:  “Madam, the assumption you are making is one I see no reason for permitting.”

“Mr. van Tuiver,” said I, “I hoped that you would not take that line of argument.  I perceive that I have been naive.”