And there was Donnelly, standing before her, hat in hand, his eyes modestly downcast; a most inoffensive figure. She was not interested in him; she thought he didn’t matter; she was looking past him at Ross, with that cajoling, childish smile of hers. “Oh, Moss!” she said. “Will you bring the sedan round to the house? Please? I want to go out.” “I’m sorry, Miss Solway,” he said, and it seemed to him that any one could hear the significance in his voice. “Mr. Solway told me not to take you out—in this weather.” “Oh!” she said, and sighed. “All right,” with gentle resignation; “I’ll just have to wait, then.” “I’m sorry, Miss Solway,” said Ross again. Didn’t she see how that fellow was watching her? It was torment to Ross. There was not a shadow on her bright face; she stood there, gay, careless, perfectly indifferent to the silent Donnelly. “All right!” she said, and turned away, then, to open the door. But it was heavy for her small fingers, and Donnelly hastened forward. “Excuse me, miss!” he said, and pushed back the door for her. “Oh, thanks!” she said, smiling into his face, and off she went, running through the rain across the sodden lawn. Ross looked after her; so little, so young. “And that’s Miss Solway!” said Donnelly, speculatively. Ross glanced at him, and his heart gave a great leap. For, on the other’s face, was an unmistakable look of perplexity. “Yes,” he said, “that’s Miss Solway.” “She’s pretty young, isn’t she?” Donnelly pursued, still following with his eyes the hurrying little figure. “I suppose so,” said Ross, casually. It was difficult for him to conceal his delight. Donnelly was evidently at a loss; he couldn’t believe ill of that girl with her careless smile. He thought she was too young, too light-hearted. The very fact of her ignoring Ross’s warning had done this for her. If she had understood, if across her smiling face had come that look Ross had seen, that look of terror and dismay, Donnelly would not have thought her too young. “He’s not sure now!” thought Ross. “He’s not sure. She has a chance now. If I can only think of something.” He could not think of anything useful now, but he felt sure that he would, later on. There was a chance now. Donnelly was only human; he, like other men, could be deluded. They left the garage and walked back to the waiting taxi. “What about a little lunch first?” suggested Donnelly. “All right!” said Ross. So they stopped at a restaurant in the town, and sent away the cab. They sat down facing each other across a small table. Ross was hungry, and Donnelly, too, ate with hearty appetite, but he did not talk. He was thoughtful, and, Ross believed, somewhat downcast. “Getting up a new theory,” said the young man to himself. “Perhaps I can help him.”