"Mr. Granthope, there’s one thing you didn’t tell me the other day, when you described that scene at Madam Grant’s." He caught the name with surprise, remembering that he had never spoken it to her. In her mention of it he felt a vague alarm. "What?" He heard his voice betray him. "That there was a little boy with her, that day." Clytie turned to him, and for the first time he felt a sudden fear that she would find him out. "Was there a little boy there? How do you know?" She kept looking at him, and away, as she spoke. In the drifting of her glances, however, her eyes seemed to seek his continuously, rather than continually to escape. "Quite by accident—never mind now. But this is what is most strange of all—I didn’t tell you, before—while I was there, that time, so many years ago—you know what strange fancies children have—you know how, if one is at all sensitive to psychic influence, how much stronger and how natural it seems when one is young—well, all the while, I seemed to feel there was some one else there—some one I couldn’t see!" She was too much for him, with such intuition. His one hope was, now, that she would not plumb the whole depth of his deceit. He managed his expression, drawing back into the shadow. "Did you know who it was, there?" "No—only that I was drawn secretly to some one who was there, near me, out of sight. Of course, I’ve forgotten much of the impression, but now, as I remember it, it almost seems to me as if this little boy—whoever he was—must be related to me in some vague way—as if we had something in common. I wish I could find out about it. You know better the rationale of these things—they come to me only in flashes of intuition, suddenly, when I least expect them." He sought desperately to divert her from the subject, summoning to his aid the tricks experience had taught him. First to his hand came the ruse of personality. "You called me ’Francis’ before—that was strange, for few people call me that or Frank nowadays—only one or two who have known me a long time." "Ah, I didn’t know what I was saying. It was strange, wasn’t it? But you won’t accuse me of coquetry at such a time, will you? You were in danger—I thought only of that." "Oh, I don’t mind," he said playfully. "Nor do I." "You’ll call me Francis?" She smiled. "Every time I rescue you." There was evidently no lead for him there. He had to laugh, and give it up. Clytie’s mood grew more serious. "Mr. Cayley was telling me how interesting you were after the ladies had left; really, he was quite complimentary. He told me all about that absurd Bennett affair you talked about." "Yes, it was an extraordinary case." He wondered what was coming. "I mean the story was absurd to hear, but I can’t help wondering what sort of people they were who would deceive an old man like that. It seems pitiful to me that any one could have the heart to do it—and for money, too."