And so as the two chatted, she putting in a stumbling phrase when they turned to her, Maggie Carlisle, Maggie Cameron, Maggie Ellison, that gallant and all-confident adventuress who till the present had never admitted herself seriously disturbed by a problem, sat limply in her chair, a very young girl, indeed, and wondered how this thing could possibly be. CHAPTER XXIV Presently Miss Sherwood said something about tea, excused herself, and disappeared within the house. Maggie saw that Hunt watched Miss Sherwood till she was safely within doors; then she was aware that he was gazing steadily at her; then she saw him execute a slow, solemn wink. Maggie almost sprang from her chair. “Shall we take a little stroll, Miss Cameron?” Hunt asked. “I think it will be some time before Miss Sherwood will want us for tea.” “Yes--thank you,” Maggie stammered. Hunt led her down a walk of white gravel to where a circle of Hiawatha roses were trained into a graceful mosque, now daintily glorious with its solid covering of yellow-hearted red blooms. Within this retreat was a rustic bench, and on this Hunt seated her and took a place beside her. He looked her over with the cool, direct, studious eyes which reminded her of his gaze when he had been painting her. “Well, Maggie,” he finally commented, “you certainly look the part you picked out for yourself, and you seem to be putting it over. Always had an idea you could handle something big if you went after it. How d'you like the life, being a swell lady crook?” She had hardly heard his banter. She needed to ask him no questions about his presence here; his ease of bearing had conveyed to her unconsciously from the first instant that her previous half-contemptuous estimate of him had been altogether wrong and that he was now in his natural element. Her first question went straight to the cause of her amazement. “Didn't you recognize me when you first saw me with Miss Sherwood?” “Yes.” “Weren't you surprised?” “Nope,” he answered with deliberate monosyllabioness. “Why not?” “I'd been wised up that I'd be likely to meet you--and here.” “Here! By whom?” “By advice of counsel I must decline to answer.” “Why didn't you tell Miss Sherwood who I am and show me up?” “Because I'd been requested not to tell.” “Requested by whom?” “Maggie,” he drawled, “you seem to be making a go of this lady crook business--but I think you might have been even more of a shining light as a criminal cross-examiner. However, I refuse to be cross-examined further. By the way,” he drawled on, “how goes it with those dear souls, Barney and Old Jimmie?” She ignored his question. “Please! Who asked you not to tell?” There was a sudden glint of good-humored malice in his eyes. “Mind if I smoke?” “No.” He drew out a silver cigarette case and opened it. “Empty!” he exclaimed. “Excuse me while I get something from the house to smoke. I'll be right back.”