"I was dining at home. Father was out, I think. I'm not sure. I went to a concert after with the Paynters. Yes, that was it--why?" "You were dining with Moropulos and I." She stared at him. "I don't understand." "Moropulos is in trouble with Steppe. He has been drinking and some of Steppe's watchers have reported that he made an ass of himself, gave away some business secrets, and that sort of thing. Steppe is naturally furious and Moropulos wants to prove an alibi." "That he was dining with us, how absurd! Where?" "In my flat." She surveyed him steadily. He was unusually excited. She had never seen Ronnie like that before. Nothing ever ruffled him. "Of course, I can't tell such a lie, even to save your friend," she said. "I was dining at home, although father has such a wretched memory that he won't be sure whether I was here or not." "Where did you meet the Paynters, did they call for you?" he asked eagerly and she shook her head. "No, I met them at Queens Hall. I was late and they had gone into the hall. But that is beside the point. I am not helping you in this matter." "But you must, you must," he was frenzied. "Moropulos knows--he saw you come into the flat--and come out." There was a dead silence. "When--on that night?" She walked across the room, her hands clasped behind her. Ronnie had expected hysteria--he marveled at her calm. "Very well," she said at last. "I dined with you and Moropulos. You had better invent another lady. Let us be decent, even in our inventions. And Mr. Moropulos entertained us with talk about--what?" "Anything," nervously, "I know that you think I'm a brute--I can't tell you what I think about myself." "I can save you the trouble. You think you are in danger and you are hating me because I am the cause." "Beryl!" She smiled. "Perhaps I am being uncharitable. The complex of this situation doesn't allow for very clear thinking. I may take another view next week. Will you post this letter for me as you go out?" He went down the stairs dumbfounded. Her quietness, the unshaken poise of her, staggered him. "Will you post this letter!"--as if his visit had been an ordinary call. He glanced at the envelope. It was addressed to a Bond Street milliner, and on the back flap was scribbled: "Send the blue toque also." "H'm," said Ronnie as he dropped the letter into the post box. He felt in some indefinable way that he was being slighted. XII Mrs. Colebrook acclaimed it as a miracle and discovered in the amazing circumstance the result of her industrious praying. "Every night I've said: 'Please God, make Christina well, amen.'" The osteopath, a short, bearded man, who perspired with great freedom, grunted his grudging satisfaction. Christina was not well by any means, but for the first time in her life she stood upon her own two feet. Only for a few seconds, with Mrs. Colebrook supporting her on the one side and the bone doctor on the other, but she stood.