"Ah, well!" He shrugged helplessly. "We were all at cross purposes, it seems. I believed that they were lying, and would continue to lie. I never tried them again. But the letter is there in my safe, and it is his best witness, Miss Harding. Where is she? How do you come to know her?" "She's in Italy. She's coming home. To me. She's my friend. We--we live together. Not here, but in the country. We share a house--" He stared. I realised how incongruous the arrangement must appear. I realised something else, too, and that was that the time had come when to this man, at least, Miss Harding must show herself in her true colours. Charmion must hurry home. I must wire to demand her presence. Happiness was waiting for her, and not one day, one hour, should the darling wait in ignorance. The dreary little flat was about to become the scene of blissful reconciliation; of a new radiance of life and hope. It was not conceivable that I could mar the sacredness of such a time by masquerading in an assumed character. As Mr Thorold was bound to know, it would simplify arrangements if he knew at once! I jumped up; tingling with excitement, almost too impatient to speak. "Mr Thorold--this is a most adventurous afternoon! I have something to tell you about myself. It will explain how it comes about that Charmion and I--Wait for me here for a quarter of an hour. I'll come back,--but there is something I must do first. You'll understand when I come back. Please wait!" I hurried out, rang for Bridget, ordered her to get rid of the orphan, and come back to help. The wardrobe was pulled from beneath the bed, off came spectacles and wig, my face was washed free from the disfiguring marks, my hair was coiled, a dainty blue gown slipped over my head. The quarter of an hour grew into a half, the sound of pacing footsteps sounded through the wall. I laughed, slipped my feet into satin slippers, and threw open the drawing-room door. He had his back towards me at that moment; he wheeled round, started, stared, made a curious jerking bow. His face showed no sign of recognition, only surprise and a veiled impatience. "Mr Thorold, I believe?" I said smiling. His forehead knitted into lines; he stared more closely. "Billy's father, I believe?" I said, smiling more broadly. "The man who ate up my sandwiches!" "Oh! you--you--you minx!" he gasped loudly. Oh! it was gloriously amusing! Edward Hallett and Charmion were nowhere for the moment; he could do nothing but gasp and stare, walk round me, examine me from one point of view and then another, gasp and exclaim again. "You--; _you_ are Miss Harding! Miss Harding was you! Am I dreaming, or is this real life? How did you do it? _Why_ did you do it? But your mouth is a different shape! This beats anything I ever knew! You used to look round-shouldered. Why? Why? _Why_? How could you be so mad?"