“I can assure you,” Peter Ruff said, sincerely, “that you need have no fears--no fears at all. Just speak to me quite frankly. Mr. Fitzgerald was a friend of yours, was he not?” Maud simpered. “He was more than that,” she answered, looking down. “We were engaged to be married.” Peter Ruff sighed. “I knew all about it,” he declared. “Fitzgerald used to tell me everything.” “You were his friend?” she asked, looking him in the face. “I was,” Peter Ruff answered fervently, “his best friend! No one was more grieved than I about that--little mistake.” She sighed. “In some ways,” she remarked softly, “you remind me of him.” “You could scarcely say anything,” Peter Ruff murmured “which would give me more pleasure. I am flattered.” She shook her head. “It isn’t flattery,” she said, “it’s the truth. You may be a few years older, and Spencer had a very nice moustache, which you haven’t, but you are really not unlike. Mr. Ruff, do tell me where he is!” Peter Ruff coughed. “You must remember,” he said, “that Mr. Fitzgerald’s absence was caused by events of a somewhat unfortunate character.” “I know all about it,” she answered, with a little sigh. “You can appreciate the fact, therefore,” Peter Ruff continued, “that as his friend and well-wisher I can scarcely disclose his whereabouts without his permission. Will you tell me exactly why you want to meet him again?” She blushed--looked down and up again--betrayed, in fact, all the signs of confusion which might have been expected from her. “Must I tell you that?” she asked. “You are married, are you not?” Peter Ruff asked, looking down at her wedding ring. She bit her lip with vexation. What a fool she had been not to take it off! “Yes! Well, no--that is to say--” “Never mind,” Peter Ruff interrupted. “Please don’t think that I want to cross-examine you. I only asked these questions because I have a sincere regard for Fitzgerald. I know how fond he was of you, and I cannot see what there is to be gained, from his point of view, by reopening old wounds.” “I suppose, then,” she remarked, looking at him in such a manner that Miss Brown had to cover her mouth with her hands to prevent her screaming out--“I suppose you are one of those who think it a crime for a woman who is married even to want to see, for a few moments, an old sweetheart?” “On the contrary,” Peter Ruff answered, “as a bachelor, I have no convictions of any sort upon the subject.” She sighed. “I am glad of that,” she said. “I am to understand, then,” Peter Ruff remarked, “that your reason for wishing to meet Mr. Fitzgerald again is purely a sentimental one?” “I am afraid it is,” she murmured; “I have thought of him so often lately. He was such a dear!” she declared, with enthusiasm.