“Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “I am a fool. That’s Julie’s handkerchief. I remember now; I bought her some of that stuff myself—from Rollinson’s probably. I quite thought that was Daphne’s scent. I am a fool, Inez. I’m most awfully sorry to give you all that trouble for nothing.” Inez looked at him with cold contempt; the icy fingers of doubt and fear were clutching at her heart again. “Do you expect me to believe that?” she asked. “Am I such a complete fool?” “Inez, what do you mean?” “I mean that you’re telling me lies. You couldn’t have made such a mistake; you deliberately deceived me. Probably the whole story’s a lie—there is no Daphne. And if there’s no Daphne. . . .” She did not finish the sentence, but stood staring at Ryland. She saw his face turn slowly white; the colour seemed literally to drain out of it before her eyes. His eyes grew large and seemed to sink into his haggard face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but only a hoarse sound came from it. He licked his parched lips, and a gulp moved the Adam’s apple in his throat. “Inez!” his voice was little more than a whisper, but the agony in it was unmistakable. He moved his hand towards her—“you don’t believe . . . ? You don’t . . . Inez, not _you_?” A look of anguished appeal came into the dark eyes. Inez felt a quiver of doubt—of hope, almost. Was it possible that Ryland, her Ryland, could be what, for a moment, she had thought him? But there can have been no softening in her face, because Ryland’s hand dropped to his side; beads of perspiration came on to his white forehead; the look of appeal changed to one of bitter determination; without a word he turned and walked towards the door. Inez watched him go—for five steps—then: “Ry,” she said. “Ry, I don’t mean it! I don’t believe . . . I can’t . . . Ry, tell me what it means! Tell me!” Ryland stopped and turned slowly towards her. His lips quivered; suddenly he put his hands to his face and a deep sob shook him. Inez ran to him and flung her arms round him—pulled him down to the sofa beside her, pressing her cheek against his hair. “Ry! Ry!” “Oh Inez!” he sobbed. “How could you, how could you?” “Ry, my darling! Ry, don’t! I was a beast—a swine. Oh, Ry, my darling, forgive me!” Ryland lifted his face and looked at her with deepening wonder in his eyes. “Inez! You’ve never called me that before! Why do you call me that?” “Oh Ry, you little fool—can’t you see?” She looked into his eyes, the delicious smile twitching at the corner of her mouth, while tears sparkled in her eyes. “Inez—but I was—till yesterday I was your brother!” “No, never, never! I’ve always known you weren’t.” “And yet . . . ?” Inez nodded vigorously, a sob still choking her voice. “Yes, and yet . . . and yet. . . . Aren’t I a fool, Ry?” Ryland looked deeply into her lovely face. It was more than a minute before he spoke.