A moment later we found ourselves in Curzon Street. She took my arm. We walked for two blocks in absolute silence, save that every now and then she choked back a sob. She was her own mistress again at length, however. "Why did you come--of all times to-night?" she asked. "I do not know." "Did you wish to see my father?" "No. You." "Why?" "I had a subconscious conviction that you might be needing me." "Truly?" she cried--and pressed my arm. "That or something else. At any rate, I felt obliged to call. It may have been from a desire to reassure myself about the colour of your eyes." "Ah! I suppose you are wondering--because--Dr. Belleville--because--I----," she paused. "I am human," I observed. "I want you to forget it. Will you, Dr. Pinsent?" "On the spot." "That is good of you." Her tone was crisp with disappointment. "You are indeed a friend." "But not in need a friend, eh? Come, come, Miss Ottley, you are in trouble. I am strong and trustworthy and capable. There are times when a man may tell the truth about himself, and this, I think, is one of them. Can I help you?" "No one can help me," she said sadly, "you least of all." "And why least of all?" "Because you hate my father." "Is he in trouble, too?" "He is the willing but unwitting victim of a wicked, wicked man--but, oh, what am I saying? Dr. Pinsent, please, please let us talk of something else." "You are trembling--May." "Oh!" she said--and looked at me. "It slipped out--unconsciously," I stammered. "I did not mean to be impertinent. I think of you--by that name. Is it impertinent to think----" "No, no." "Then you'll forgive me?" "What is there to forgive?" "All that the circumstance implies. Come, after all, I am not sorry for the slip. Why should I twist its meaning either, like a coward. It is only the weak who need the shelter of hypocrisy. Look straight before you--May--and do not turn your eyes. May again, you see." "You have something to tell me," she said gravely. "The old, old story, May," I answered with a short but reckless laugh. "Should you--Dr. Pinsent--do you think?" "Yes, because the husband you have chosen is a gallant fellow and my friend. I am too fond of him to wish to do him an ill turn, even in my own adventure. Why, look you, May, were you to turn to me and say, 'I love you, Hugo Pinsent,' I would answer, 'Yes--and we both love Frankfort Weldon.'" "Yes," said Miss Ottley. She stopped and we looked deep into each other's eyes. "Yes," she said again. "And we both love Frankfort Weldon." "God help us," I exclaimed. "It is a good prayer. God will hear it," she said softly. "What made you?" I asked a little later; we were walking on again--but now apart. "You," she said. "It is very wonderful." "And sad," said she. "But grand and beautiful." "I shall not go to the opera to-night," she said. "Will you put me in a cab?" "You will go home?" "Yes." "And Belleville?" "He will be at work. I shall not see him."