Yes; evidently he had asked himself, on the instant, what she would do about Lilla; and the mere fact made her feel, with a fierce desperation, that she must do something. Not that she cared a straw about Lilla, or felt the least “call” to save her--but to have Chris in the family, in the group, to have to smile at him across the Clephane dinner-table, the Drover dinner-table, all the family dinner-tables, to have to keep up, for all the rest of her life, the double pretence of never having liked him too much, and of now liking him enough to gratify the pride and allay the suspicions of the family--no, she could not imagine herself doing it! She was right to be afraid of him; he was right to be afraid of her. * * * * * The return to daylight made her nocturnal logic seem absurd; but several days passed before her agitation subsided. It was only when she found life continuing undisturbed about her, Anne painting for long rapturous hours, Lilla following her same bored round of pleasure, the others placidly engaged in their usual pursuits, and no one mentioning Chris’s name, or apparently aware of his existence, that the shadow of her midnight imaginings was lifted. Once or twice, as the sense of security returned, she thought of letting Chris’s name fall, ever so casually, in Fred Landers’s hearing. She never got as far as that; but one day she contrived, in speaking of some famous collection of books just coming into the market, to mention Horace Maclew. Landers’s eye kindled. “Ah, what books! His Italian antiphonals are probably the best in the world.” “You know him, then? How--is it long since you last saw his library?” she stammered. He considered. “Oh, years; not since before the war.” Her heart rose on the mounting hope. “Oh, not since then?... I suppose he must have a very good librarian?” “Used to have; the poor chap was killed in the war, I believe. That reminds me that I heard the other day he was looking for some one.” “Looking for a librarian?” She heard her voice shake. “Not for a private secretary?” She thought he looked surprised. “I don’t think so; but I really don’t remember. I know he always has a lot of scribes about him; naturally, with so many irons in the fire. Did you happen to hear of any one who was looking for that sort of job? It might be a kindness to let Maclew know.” She drew her brows together, affecting to consider. “Where did I hear of some one? I can’t remember either. One is always hearing nowadays of people looking for something to do.” “Yes; but of few who can do anything. And Maclew’s the last man to put up with incompetence. You must come and see him with me. He’s not an easy customer, but he and I are old members of the Grolier Club and he lets me bring a friend to see his library occasionally. I’ve always promised to take Anne, some day when she’s going on to Washington.”