To him, soberly watchful, her smile meant much; it was the patent of her innocence of any wrong thought. All night he had tossed on his cot, thinking, thinking! What should he do? What_ever_ should he do? That some wrong was on the way he hadn't the least doubt. Should he confront the colonel and demand an explanation, a demand he knew he had a perfect right to make? If this should be evil, and the shame of it fall on this lovely being?... No, no! He must stand aside, he must turn a deaf ear to duty, the voice of love spoke too loud. His own assurance of her innocence made him desire to fall at her feet and worship. After all, it _was_ none of his affair. Had he not played at this comedy, this thing would have gone on, and he would have been in ignorance of its very existence. So, why should he meddle? Yet that monotonous query kept beating on his brain: What _was_ this thing? He saw that he must wait. Yesterday he had feared nothing save his own exposure. Comedy had frolicked in her grinning mask. And here was Tragedy stalking in upon the scene. The girl named a dozen shops which she desired to honor with her custom and presence, and stepped into the coupe. William closed the door, and James touched up the pair and drove off toward the city. He was perfectly indifferent to any possible exposure. In truth, he forgot everything, absolutely and positively everything, but the girl and the fortification plans she had been drawing. Scarce a half a dozen bundles were the result of the tour among the shops. "Mrs. Chadwick's, James." The call lasted half an hour. As a story-teller I am supposed to be everywhere, to follow the footsteps of each and all of my characters, and with a fidelity and a perspicacity nothing short of the marvelous. So I take the liberty of imagining the pith of the conversation between the woman and the girl. _The Woman:_ How long, dear, have we known each other? _The Girl:_ Since I left school, I believe. Where _did_ you get that stunning morning gown? _The Woman_ (smiling in spite of the serious purpose she has in view): Never mind the gown, my child; I have something of greater importance to talk about. _The Girl: Is_ there anything more important to talk about among women? _The Woman:_ Yes. There is age. _The Girl:_ But, mercy, we do not talk about that! _The Woman:_ I am going to establish a precedent, then. I am forty, or at least, I am on the verge of it. _The Girl_ (warningly): Take care! If we should ever become enemies! If I should ever become treacherous! _The Woman:_ The world very well knows that I am older than I look. That is why it takes such interest in my age. _The Girl:_ The question is, how _do_ you preserve it?