“Inez, I’m the most unworthy beast any girl could love—and especially you. I’m a waster, a liar, a dissolute rotter, a fool, pretty nearly a thief, pretty nearly everything—except what, for a minute, I thought you thought I was. How can you love me?” Inez smiled at him calmly. “That’s not the point, Ryland. The point is that I’ve just told you, in the most immodest way, that I love you—that I’ve always loved you—and you haven’t said a word about loving me. Do you?” The man would have been inhuman who could have turned his back on the wistful loveliness of her expression. Ryland shyly took her hands in his. “Inez, I’ve only known you about twelve hours—except as a sister—and being a sister is the most complete disguise imaginable. I wonder if you’ll believe me; since last night—since you told me about my not being your brother—you’ve appeared to me someone entirely different. I’ve thought about you—I couldn’t think why. I haven’t consciously thought about you, but when I was trying to think about something else—about this horrible muddle—I have found myself thinking about you. I didn’t know what it was—I was rather annoyed even. Oh, Inez, what a fool I am! What a fool I’ve been! I’m simply and absolutely unworthy of you!” Inez rose to her feet. “Yes, I think you are, Ry,” she said, “at the present moment. It’s for you to decide whether you want to stay like that. In the meantime you can just forget what I’ve told you. Now, what about this handkerchief?” Ryland slowly flushed—a healthier colour than the ghastly whiteness of ten minutes ago. “What I told you was true, Inez. I did make a mistake.” He grinned feebly. “I believe it was partly your fault. I told you just now that I kept on finding myself thinking about you when I wanted to be thinking about this Daphne business. Good Lord, doesn’t that seem a ghastly business now—how could I ever—but I’m not going to talk about that. You know I’m a fool—you’ve always known I was a fool—and yet . . . ! Now, I’ve got to show you whether I’m always going to be one—or not.” Inez nodded gravely. There was a minute’s silence, each deep in thought. Inez was the first one to break it. “Look here, Ry,” she said. “You were very positive this morning about that handkerchief—you said you remembered her dropping her handkerchief when she got out of the car and your bagging it. Now you say that you made a mistake and that it was one of Julie Vermont’s. Do you mean that you _didn’t_ pick up one of Daphne’s handkerchiefs?” Ryland looked perplexed. “Yes, of course I did—I know I did—but this can’t be it.” “Then,” said Inez triumphantly, “where is the one you did pick up—Daphne’s?” “Good Lord, Inez—I see what you’re getting at; probably I’ve still got it somewhere! By Jove, that’s an idea; I’ll go and hunt for it.” He sprang to his feet and dashed impetuously out of the room.