I replied that I was and, choosing my words carefully, I said it was kind of her to keep me in mind. "Oh yes, I keep you in mind, and I keep Hugh. What I've really come for is to beg you to hand him the money of which I spoke the other day." She seated herself, but not before glancing about the room, either expectantly or fearfully. As I poured out her tea I repeated what I had said already on the subject of the money. She wasn't listening, however. When she made replies they were not to the point. All the while she sipped her tea and nibbled her cake her eyes had the shifting alertness of a watchful little bird's. "Oh, but what does it all matter when it's a question of love?" she said, somewhat at a venture. "Love is the only thing, don't you think? It must make its opportunities as it can." "You mean that love can be--unscrupulous?" "Oh, I shouldn't use that word." "It isn't the word I'm thinking of. It's the act." "Love is like war, isn't it? All's fair!" "But is it?" Her eyes rested on mine, not boldly, but with a certain daring. "Why--yes." "You believe that?" She still kept her eyes on mine. Her tone was that of a challenge. "Why--yes." She added, perhaps defiantly, "Don't you?" I said, decidedly: "No, I don't." "Then you don't love. You can't love. Love is reckless. Love--" There was a long pause before she dropped the two concluding words, spacing them apart as if to emphasize her deliberation. "Love--risks--all." "If it risks all it may lose all." The challenge was renewed. "Well? Isn't that better than--?" "It's not better than doing right," I hastened to say, "however hard it may be." "Ah, but what is right? A thing can't be right if--if--" she sought for a word--"if it's killing you." As she said this there was a sound along the corridor leading from the house. I thought Mrs. Daly had forgotten something and was coming back. But the tread was different from her slow stump, and my sense of a danger at hand was such as the good woman never inspired. Mrs. Brokenshire made no attempt to play a part or to put me off the scent. She acted as if I understood what was happening. Her teacup resting in her lap, she sat with eyes aglow and lips slightly apart in a look of heavenly expectation. I could hardly believe her to be the dazed, stricken little creature I had seen three months ago. As the footsteps approached she murmured, "He's coming!" or, "Who's coming?" I couldn't be sure which. Mr. Grainger entered like a man who is on his own ground and knows what he is about to find. There was no uncertainty in his manner and no apparent sense of secrecy. His head was high and his walk firm as he pushed his way amid tables and chairs to where we were sitting in the glow of a shaded light.