"I'm so glad you've come--I had to send for you--do you mind? I want to talk to you--about nothing in particular--I'm nervy. Can't you tell from my hand?" The hand in his was shaking, he felt the quiver of it. And she looked pale. Why had she sent for him? She was amazed at herself. Perhaps it was his strength she wanted; a rock on which she might rebuild the shattered fabric of her reason. She had been thinking of him all the afternoon. Ronnie never came to her mind. He was incidental--reality lay with the coarse-featured man whom she had likened to a Cæsar. "I don't want you to do anything for me, except be here. Just for a little while." She was pleading like a frightened child. "I am here--I will stay here until you want me to go," said Ambrose, and smiled into her eyes. "Mr. Sault, I do so wish to talk about something. It won't hurt you will it?" She had only released his hands to pull a chair forward. Opposite to him she sat, this time both of her hands in his. Why? She gave up asking the question. "You killed somebody, is it true--I knew it was true before I asked you. Did it injure you--make you think less of yourself--did you loathe the man you killed because he made you do it? You are looking at me so strangely--you don't think I am mad, do you?" "I don't think you are mad. No, I didn't even hate the man. He deserved death. I did not wish to kill him, but there was no other way. There must be that definite end to some problems--death. There is no other. I believe implicitly in it--destruction. A man who is so vile that he kills in his greed or his lust! Who takes an innocent and a helpful life--helpful to the world and its people--you must destroy him. The law does this, so that the brain behind his wicked hands shall not lead him to further mischief. If you have a sheep-dog that worries sheep you shoot him. There is no other way. Or he will breed other sheep dogs with the same vice. Most problems are soluble by various processes. Some of them drastic, some of them commonplace. A few, a very few, can only be ended that way. My man was one of these. I won't tell you the story--he was a bad man and I killed him. But I didn't hate him, nor hate myself. And I think no less of myself--and no more. I did what I thought was right--I've never regretted it, but I've never been proud of it." She listened, fascinated. The hands in his were quiet now, there was a hue in her cheeks. "How fine to feel like that--to detach yourself--but why should you regret? You injured no one. Except the man and--was he married?" He nodded. "I didn't know at the time. She came forward afterwards and paid the expenses of my defense--she hated him--it was very sad." They were quiet together until she lifted her head and spoke. "Mr. Sault--I'm going to ask you another strange question. Have you, in all your life, ever been in love?" "Yes," he said instantly.