And so, as she now gazed down through the winter dusk upon the shifting motor-tops, she was very certain of herself despite her palpitant expectation over Clifford’s coming--very confident of herself, and what she was, and what she was going to do, and what she was going to be: just as many another young woman, of a perhaps more careful rearing, was preeningly confident of herself, in those limousines far below her. For this was the time of all times, and the place of all places, that young women were trained to dream of themselves; and here, also, often the dreams came gorgeously true--for a time!... The ring of her apartment bell brought Mary sharply from her thoughts. Switching on the lights, she opened the door and admitted Clifford into her sitting-room. She spoke first, with a formality that held him at a distance. “I consented to see you because an hour or two ago you discovered a private matter of mine, and I neglected to ask you to keep it silent.” “You refer to your engagement to Jack Morton?” “I do. Of course you will say nothing about it.” “That you must leave to my discretion.” “You mean you are going to tell?” she demanded. He tried to keep his business here to the front of his mind, but now, as he sat face to face with her, the old question recurred for which he seemed able to reach no final answer: what was she really like beneath this exterior she showed him?--what might she be beneath and within the self she supposed herself to be? “I mean that I am reserving the right to do exactly what I please,” he replied, looking at her squarely. “This business of your secret engagement is also what made me want to see you--but it is only one of many things. I have done a lot of thinking since I left you two hours ago. Also I have just seen Police Commissioner Thorne.” “Yes?” “Mr. Thorne honored me by offering me the position of Chief of the Detective Bureau. I accepted the position--” “Then I suppose I should address you as-- By the way, just how should one address you?” “But I immediately withdrew my acceptance,” he continued, ignoring the cool irony which seemed to come automatically into her voice whenever they met. “I refused because of certain things I learned from Thorne about you.” “About me? What are they?” “That’s what I want to learn more about--and from you.” “Ah--then you still are a detective?” “I suppose I am,” still ignoring the irony of her tone. “But just now I primarily am a person who is interested in his own affairs as a man.” “Your affairs?” she questioned. “Just now your affairs have become my affairs. And I’m hoping that you’ll help me by frankly answering my questions.” “Questions about what?” “About yourself.” “Such as?” “Instead of leaving it for me to discover by accident, why did you not frankly tell me of your intention to marry some one else?--when you knew what for six months I had been hoping for. How much do you care for Jack Morton?”