"Oh, it doesn't matter in the least, old man. You didn't implicate me, as it happened, though I'm afraid you got yourself into rather hot water. A poor devil of a painter must have models, and it's recognised, but men of business----! It's quite another thing. There's no possible connection between girls and dry docks." Then he added lightly, "Where are you going to dine to-night? Let's go to one of our Leicester Square haunts, or shall we get into a hansom and drive to Richmond? I've sold old Quain a picture, and I feel extravagantly inclined. What do you say? Under which _chef_? Speak, or let's toss up." Rainham appeared to consider for a moment; then he sat down again. "About that girl," he said; "I suppose you _do_ remember something about her? She must have been very pretty when you painted her, though she's nothing wonderful now, poor thing! I don't want to pump you, Dick, but she seems to have been pretty badly treated, and I want to see if I can't help her." "Help her!" with a shrug. "For goodness' sake tell me: is it Don Quixote or Don Lothario that you are playing?" "I should have thought you need hardly have asked," answered the other a little sadly. "I found the wretched creature waiting, with an equally wretched baby, both apparently not far from starvation, outside the dock the other night; and--well, I thought she might be waiting for you." Lightmark threw the stump of his cigarette into a corner viciously, with a dangerous glance at the other. "Why the devil should she have been waiting for me? Did she say she was waiting for me? How should a model know that I had been painting there? But I don't want to quarrel with you, and, after all you've done for me, I suppose you've a certain right to put yourself _in loco parentis_, and all that sort of thing. Tell me all you have found out about the girl--all she has told you, that is to say, and then I'll see what I can do." This masterly suggestion seemed to Rainham both plausible and practical, and he proceeded to unfold the whole story of his first meeting with Kitty. When he reached the part of his narrative which brought out the girl's explanation that she was seeking to speak with a Mr. Crichton, Lightmark looked at him again covertly, with the same threatening light in his glance. Then, apparently reassured, he resigned himself again to listen, with a cigarette unlighted between his fingers. "You say Oswyn heard the whole story?" he asked, when Rainham had finished. "Did the girl seem to know him? Or did _he_ seem to have heard of this Crichton before?"