“Then--I admit it was cruel of me, but I was curious--I said that some people had refrained from doing what she had done, for the sake of example to humanity. Her reply was ‘But apart from religion, people haven’t yet decided what _is_ the right way to arrange their lives.’” Dr. Dakin smiled. “In view of the modern ferment of opinion, she was right there.” François pushed his chair back, with a movement of impatience. “Well now what’s to be done? The tale of her incredibly evil past will spread I suppose, and Dymfield will become impossible.” He laughed rather savagely. “It’s quite an amusing notion that scandal should attack a gentle woman of Anne’s age. Yet I imagine that few of the natives of a village possess a sense of humour.” “I don’t think the story will spread. The vicar as I told you is absolutely incredulous, and no one else has heard it.” “Except Madame?” hinted François. “I don’t wish to suggest an unkindness. But women, you understand? A whisper to a dear friend--_hein_?” “My wife is devoted to Miss Page,” said the doctor shortly. “I shall warn her; but she will be indignant at the mere suggestion of betrayal.” “_Parfaitement!_” returned François with a bow. “Pardon me. You will probably find Miss Page in Paris,” he added. “She was expected to-day.” “So much the better. It will be a great pleasure.” The doctor rose. “Good-night,” he said, extending his hand cordially. “And thank you for this talk. Perhaps if you decide not to go to Egypt, you will do us the honour of staying with us a little later, when my wife comes back? Our friendship for Miss Page makes a bond between us,” he added, in his pleasant sincere voice. François met his eyes for an instant. They were full of the kindliness and instinctive liking he felt for the man he was addressing. “A thousand thanks. But I think I am almost certain to go to Egypt.” “Another time then. I shall only say _au revoir_.” François followed him into the hall, and watched him step into a hansom, and give the address of his hotel to the driver. When he turned away, there was a curious expression about his lips, which presently deepened into a smile that was partly cynicism, partly something else. He was reflecting on the curious encounters liable to befall a man like himself. He thought of the evening’s conversation, and smiled again to think how completely till this moment he had failed to realize the humour of its friendly nature. “_C’est un honnête homme. Il ne méritait pas ça----_” François dismissed the subject of Dr. Dakin’s deserts with a mental shrug, as he went upstairs to his room, in which a bright fire was burning. XVIII François drew up an armchair close to the blaze, and lighted his pipe.