“Well,” he said coolly, “of course you’re going to let me help you. I’ve got plenty--more than is good for me--and nobody has more right to it than you. If you say so, I’ll ditch that train to-morrow and have you out of here by noon with the children, into a comfortable place.” “No, sir,” she laughed. “But, my God!” he protested, and then added severely. “Moira, I told you early in the evening you looked none the worse for everything.... But you do--you look peaked. You’re fagged.” “Who wouldn’t be, after a night of it with you! No, no, you dear boy. But we’ll have a night of it again.” “Thanks for that.” “And only with you, Rob,” she continued, with emphasis. He caught the hint that he was to keep the secret of her whereabouts. “Just as you say. I shan’t talk. But I’m going to get you out of this, somehow, sometime. I can’t tell you where to reach me, to-night, except that Thornhill does, in a roundabout way. I’m going to locate in the East in a few days and you’ll hear from me. I’m going now. There’s no use talking, Moira, this pulls me down”--he made a gesture with his hand about the room and then added apologetically--“Don’t be offended. It’s just because it happens to be you.” As he stood awkwardly, with hat and stick under one arm, he took out a long box of cigarettes and threw it on the table. “At least let me give you those,” he said with a sheepish grin. “Rob, please don’t worry about me,” she pleaded. She stepped toward the table to take a cigarette from the box he had thrown down, but his outstretched arm stopped her. “Here,” he said, offering his opened case, “take one of these.... Moira, you’re the woman who makes all my conceptions about the sex go blooey. Damn it, I wish I were Harold. I wish I had some prior rights in the matter.” “You’ve more rights this minute than Hal,” she said firmly. After he had gone she sat puffing smoke into the dim upper reaches of the room, and watching the petals of candlelight waver and dip. What fun it had been! Life held strange meetings. Perhaps it held many more for her. She was a little unhappy, dissatisfied ... the place did look dismal, unclean, comfortless. In the morning she found Miles pacing the studio waiting for her to rise. He was nervous and evasive, but in better shape than she had expected to see him. Obviously, he had done his recovering elsewhere, and bathed while she slept. She kissed him, her quarrel with him lost in pleasant afterthoughts of the night before, but he seemed troubled and strange. At breakfast, he suddenly asked: “What the devil is this?” “What?” He tossed a Pall Mall cigarette box across the table and she opened it. The silver paper was folded carefully over the top. Between it and the bottom layer of cigarettes lay five one hundred dollar bills. “It’s a long story,” she said, recovering from her surprise. Then she told him about Rob. He stood up to go after she had finished.