He talked like an Englishman--or an Irishman, thought Freda. And why shouldn’t she talk to him. It was all too ridiculous anyway. But rather exciting. “I’m in a very silly mess,” she told him, “and I haven’t any place to go to-night.” “And you wish I’d mind my own business?” “No--but there’s nothing you can do. I’m not in the least a tragedy. In the morning I can straighten things out. I haven’t committed any murders or anything like that. But I said I wouldn’t go back to-night, and I won’t.” The young man considered. “Is it by any chance a husband to whom you made that statement?” “Oh, no,” Freda laughed. “It wasn’t a husband or even a father. It was just a girl.” “Well, you’re a bit thinly clad to carry out your high resolve.” She shivered. “Nights are longer than I thought.” “Oh, you’re right there,” said he, “nights can stretch themselves out to infinity. However, we must shorten this one for you. I’d just as soon do it by conversation but your slippers--don’t you think you’d better go back--for this one night?” “I couldn’t.” “Well, I approve of high resolves myself. I’m used to them and seeing people offer themselves up on their altar. There’s no real reason why you should give in on any position you took, just because the sun is on the other side of the world. Could you tell me a bit more, maybe? If names mean anything to you at this hour of the night, mine’s Gregory Macmillan. I don’t live here. I’m staying at some hotel or other and I came here on business--that’s what you always say in the States, isn’t it, when you give an account of yourself?” “You’re English.” “Oh, God forbid,” he cried, “English! You insult me--but you don’t mean to. No--Irish, Irish, Irish--I should have said it first and have been spared that accusation.” “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what your accent was. I see now. It was stupid of me.” He laughed at her. “It’s no matter. You’re a very young woman, aren’t you? I can tell from your voice. Well, you don’t want to wander further with an Irish adventurer, do you?” “I can’t help myself.” “Let’s get down to facts. You quarreled.” “Hardly that. I tell you it’s a silly business. A drunk young man--a vicious girl who chanced to be my hostess said things. So I walked out of her house. I can’t go back without crawling back, can I?” “No--you can’t go back if you’d have to crawl. But where else can you go? Haven’t you some friend--some intimate?” “No--I can’t disturb families at this hour--and I only know people here a little.” “Isn’t there perhaps some single lady? Some unmarried woman to whom you could turn? At this hour of the night it may be easier, you know, than at dawn. And you’re dressed for the evening. Of course we might go back to my hotel. Let’s see--a motor accident might do. No--that would involve things. You’re sure you don’t know some discreet spinster?” She thought. “I’ve only been here three weeks. Only perhaps Miss Duffield--?” He started.