As for the girl, in the course of the next half or three-quarters of an hour she demonstrated herself conclusively a person of amazing resource, developing with admirable ingenuity a campaign planned on the spur of a chance observation. The gentle mannered and self-sufficient crook was taken captive before he realized it, however willing he may have been. Enmeshed in a hundred uncomprehended subtleties, he basked, purring, the while she insinuated herself beneath his guard and stripped him of his entire armament of cunning, vigilance, invention, suspicion, and distrust. He relinquished them without a sigh, barely conscious of the spoliation. After all, she was of his trade, herself mired with guilt; she would never dare betray him, the consequences to herself would be so dire. Besides, patently,--almost too much so,--she admired him. He was her hero. Had she not more than hinted that such was the case, that his example, his exploits, had fired her to emulation--however weakly feminine?... He saw her before him, dainty, alluring, yielding, yet leading him on: altogether desirable. And so long had he, Anisty, starved for affection!... "I am sure you must be dying for a smoke." "Beg pardon!" He awoke abruptly, to find himself twirling the sharp-ribbed stem of his empty glass. Abstractedly he stared into this, as though seeking there a clue to what they had been talking about. Hazily he understood that they had been drifting close upon the perilous shoals of intimate personalities. What had he told her? What had he not? No matter. It was clearly to be seen that her regard for him had waxed rather than waned as a result of their conversation. One had but to look into her eyes to be reassured as to that. One did look, breathing heavily.... What an ingenuous child it was, to show him her heart so freely! He wondered that this should be so, feeling it none the less a just and graceful tribute to his fascinations. She repeated her arch query. She was sure he wanted to smoke. Indeed he did--if she would permit? And forthwith Maitland's cigarette case was produced, with a flourish. "What a beautiful case!" In an instant it was in her hands. "Beautiful!" she iterated, inspecting the delicate tracery of the monogram engraver's art--head bended forward, face shaded by the broad-brimmed hat. "You like it? You would care to own it?" Anisty demanded unsteadily. "I?" The inflection of doubtful surprise was a delight to the ear. "Oh!... I couldn't think of accepting.... Besides, I have no use for it." "Of course you ain't--_are_ not that sort." An hour back he could have kicked himself for the grammatical blunder; now he was wholly illuded; besides, she didn't seem to notice. "But as a little token--between us----" She drew back, pushing the case across the cloth; "I couldn't dream...." "But if I insist----?" "If you insist?... Why I suppose ... it's awfully good of you." She flashed him a maddening glance.