He looked at me intently. “Don't you?” he asked. “You are certain you don't? Humph! Well, if I were in your place I would jolly well find out; you may be sure of that.” “What are you driving at, Bayliss? I tell you I don't know what you mean.” He did not answer. He was frowning and kicking the corner of a rug with his foot. “I don't understand what you mean,” I repeated. “You are saying too much or too little for my comprehension.” “I've said too much,” he muttered. “At all events, I have said all I shall say. Was there any other subject you wished to see me about, Knowles? If not I must be going. I'm rather busy this evening.” “There was no subject but that one. And you will tell me nothing more concerning Miss Morley?” “No.” “Good night,” I said, and turned away. Then I turned back. “Bayliss,” said I, “I think perhaps I had better say this: I have only the kindest feelings toward you. You may have misunderstood my attitude in all this. I have said nothing to prejudice her--Miss Morley against you. I never shall. You care for her, I know. If she cares for you that is enough, so far as I am concerned. Her happiness is my sole wish. I want you to consider me your friend--and hers.” Once more I extended my hand. For an instant I thought he was going to take it, but he did not. “No,” he said, sullenly. “I won't shake hands with you. Why should I? You don't mean what you say. At least I don't think you do. I--I--By Jove! you can't!” “But I do,” I said, patiently. “You can't! Look here! you say I care for her. God knows I do! But you--suppose you knew where she was, what would you do? Would you go to her?” I had been considering this very thing, during my ride to the lodgings and on the way to the hotel; and I had reached a conclusion. “No,” I answered, slowly. “I think I should not. I know she does not wish me to follow her. I suppose she went away to avoid me. If I were convinced that she was among friends, in a respectable place, and quite safe, I should try to respect her wish. I think I should not follow her there.” He stared at me, wide-eyed. “You wouldn't!” he repeated. “You wouldn't! And you--Oh, I say! And you talked of her happiness!” “It is her happiness I am thinking of. If it were my own I should--” “What?” “Nothing, nothing. She will be happier if I do not follow her, I suppose. That is enough for me.” He regarded me with the same intent stare. “Knowles,” he said, suddenly, “she is at the home of a relative of hers--Cripps is the name--in Leatherhead, England. There! I have told you. Why I should be such a fool I don't know. And now you will go there, I suppose. What?” “No,” I answered. “No. I thank you for telling me, Bayliss, but it shall make no difference. I will respect her wish. I will not go there.” “You won't!” “No, I will not trouble her again.”