“I have so few friends,” said Jimmy bitterly. “People here who are worth knowing know me.” “What do they know?” she asked, and looked at him. “They know my life,” he said doggedly, “from the day I was sent down from Oxford to the day I succeeded to my uncle’s title and estates. They know I have been all over the world picking up strange acquaintances. They know I was one of the”--he hesitated for a word--“gang that robbed Rahbat Pasha’s bank; that I held a big share in Reale’s ventures--a share he robbed me of, but let that pass; that my life has been consistently employed in evading the law.” “For whose benefit?” she asked. “God knows,” he said wearily, “not for mine. I have never felt the need of money, my uncle saw to that. I should never have seen Reale again but for a desire to get justice. If you think I have robbed for gain, you are mistaken. I have robbed for the game’s sake, for the excitement of it, for the constant fight of wits against men as keen as myself. Men like Angel made me a thief.” “And now----?” she asked. “And now,” he said, straightening himself up, “I am done with the old life. I am sick and sorry--and finished.” “And is this African trip part of your scheme of penitence?” she asked. “Or are you going away because you want to forget----” Her voice had sunk almost to a whisper, and her eyes were looking into the fire. “What?” he asked huskily. “To forget--me,” she breathed. “Yes, yes,” he said, “that is what I want to forget.” “Why?” she said, not looking at him. “Because--oh, because I love you too much, dear, to want to drag you down to my level. I love you more than I thought it possible to love a woman--so much, that I am happy to sacrifice the dearest wish of my heart, because I think I will serve you better by leaving you.” He took her hand and held it between his two strong hands. “Don’t you think,” she whispered, so that he had to bend closer to hear what she said, “don’t you think I--I ought to be consulted?” “You--you,” he cried in wonderment, “would you----” She looked at him with a smile, and her eyes were radiant with unspoken happiness. “I want you, Jimmy,” she said. It was the first time she had called him by name. “I want you, dear.” His arms were about her, and her lips met his. They did not hear the tinkle of the bell, but they heard the knock at the door, and the girl slipped from his arms and was collecting the tea-things when Angel walked in. He looked at Jimmy inanely, fiddling with his watch chain, and he looked at the girl. “Awfully sorry to intrude again,” he said, “but I got a wire at the little postoffice up the road telling me I needn’t take the case at Newcastle, so I thought I’d come back and tell you, Jimmy, that I will take what I might call a ‘cemetery drink’ with you to-night.” “I am not going,” said Jimmy, recovering his calm. “Not--not going?” said the astonished Angel. “No,” said the girl, speaking over his shoulder, “I have persuaded him to stay.”