"He says he will, but you know how horridly untruthful men are. And now John is slopping about with his wet clay again as usual--an order for a tomb in Greenwood--poor boy, he had better think how best to keep away from tombs." "Why, Rita!" said Valerie, shocked. "I can't help it; I'm really frightened, dear. And you know well enough I'm no flighty alarmist. Besides, somehow, I feel certain that Sam's brother would tell John to go to Arizona"--she pointed piteously to her trunk: "It's packed; it has been packed for weeks. I'm all ready to go with him. Why can't a man mould clay and chip marble and cast bronze as well in Arizona as in this vile pest-hole?" Valerie sat with folded hands looking at her. "How do you think _you_ could stand that desolation?" "Arizona?" "Yes." "There is another desolation I dread more." "Do you really love him so?" Rita slowly turned from the window and looked at her. "Yes," she said. [Illustration: "'And they--the majority of them--are, after all, just men.'"] "Does he know it, Rita?" "No, dear." "Do you think--if he did--" "No.... How could it be--after what has happened to me?" "You would tell him?" "Of course. I sometimes wonder whether he has not already heard--something--from that beast--" "Does John know him?" "He has done two fountains for his place at El Naúar. He had several other things in view--" she shrugged--"but _The Mohave_ sailed suddenly with its owner for a voyage around the world--so John was told;--and--Valerie, it's the first clear breath of relief I've drawn since Penrhyn Cardemon entered John's studio." "I didn't know he had ever been there." "Yes; twice." "Did you see him there?" "Yes. I nearly dropped. At first he did not recognise me--I was very young--when--" "Did he speak to you?" "Yes. I managed to answer. John was not looking at me, fortunately.... After that he wrote to me--and I burned the letter.... It was horrible; he said that José Querida was his guest at El Naúar, and he asked me to get you because you knew Querida, and be his guest for a week end.... I cried that night; you heard me." "Was _that_ it!" asked Valerie, very pale. "Yes; I was too wretched to tell you," Valerie sat silent, her teeth fixed in her lower lip. Then: "José could not have known what kind of a man the--other--is." "I hope not." "Oh, he _couldn't_ have known! Rita, he wouldn't have let him ask us--" "Men seldom deceive one another." "You _don't_ think José Querida _knew_?"