She had to perfection, the art of allowing her mind to drift away when she thought it advisable. “And so you took poor Billy in?” she said. Geoffrey coughed. “Well, in a sense,” he answered. She rose. “We’ll go at once,” she said. “Is it far?” “Not very, but it is going to be hard work.” He felt more practical. His delight had slipped from him at the realisation of her relationship to McVay. For a moment he felt depressed, then as he saw her struggling to undo the knot that held the comforter about her, he forgot everything but the pleasure of doing her a service. And in the midst of this joy, the coverlet slid to the ground and revealed her clad from head to foot in his sister’s sables. There was a pause. “What are you looking at?” she asked. “That is a nice warm coat you have on.” “Isn’t it?” She rubbed her cheek against the high collar with a tenderness trying to any masculine onlooker. “It saved my life.” It was on the tip of Geoffrey’s tongue to ask if he was not entitled to a similar claim on her consideration, but he suppressed it. Was it possible that she did not know that the garments she wore were stolen? Could any sane woman really believe that sable coats fell naturally to the lot of night watchmen? Her manner was candour itself, but how should it not be? What more inevitable than that she should make an effort to deceive a casual stranger? She had the most evident motives for behaving exactly as she did. Just so, however, he had reasoned about McVay, and yet McVay had been sincere. There had been a girl in distress exactly as he had said. It was contrary to all reason, but it was true. Might not the girl be true too? Was it not possible, he asked himself, and answered that it was more than possible, it was the truth. He chose to believe in her, and turned his anger against McVay, who could drag her through such a mire. He felt the tragedy of a high-minded woman tricked out in stolen finery, and remembered with a pang that he himself was hurrying on the moment of disillusion. “I wonder,” she said, “if I could take some things with me. Is it impossible for me to carry a bag?” “Yes, but not for me.” “It would be only this.” She held up a small Russia leather affair legibly marked with Mrs. Inness’ initials. “I will take it,” said Geoffrey. His faith was sorely tried. She moved about collecting things and packing, and presently remarked: “But if Billy is all right, why didn’t he come for me himself?” “Oh, because—” Geoffrey hesitated an instant, and her fears interpreted the pause. “He’s hurt. You are keeping it from me. You are deceiving me.” “I would scorn to deceive you,” said Geoffrey with passion, and looked at her to find some answer to the reverse question which he did not put into words. She did not appear to understand. “Then why didn’t he come?” she asked. “He had been out in the storm already. I thought it was my turn.”