"Captain Hylton had nothing to do with it," she said warmly. "I had no notion that you were at Clermont-Ferrand." "I'm quite aware of that, Lady Auriol." She flushed, vexed at having said a foolish thing. "And Captain Hylton had no notion that I was coming." "Perfectly," said Lackaday. "Well?" she said after a pause. "I came over to Royat, this morning," said Lackaday, "to call on you and bid you good-bye." "Why?" she asked in a low voice. "It appeared to be ordinary courtesy." "Was there anything particular you wanted to say to me?" "Perhaps to supplement just the little I could tell you yesterday afternoon." "Captain Hylton supplemented it after you left. Oh, he was very discreet. But there were a few odds and ends that needed straightening out. If you had been frank with me from the beginning, there would have been no need of it. As it was, I had to clear everything up. If I had known exactly. I should not have gone to the circus last night." His eyelids fluttered like those of a man who has received a bullet through him, and his mouth set grimly. "You might have spared me that," said he. He bent forward. "Hylton, why did you let her do it?" "I might just as well have tried to stop the thunder," said I, seeing no reason why this young woman should not bear the blame for her folly. "A circus is a comfortless place of entertainment," he said, in the familiar, even voice. "I wish it had been a proper theatre. What did you think of the performance?" She straightened herself upright, turned and looked at him; then looked away in front of her: a sharp breath or two caused a little convulsive heave of her bosom; to my astonishment I saw great tears run down her cheeks on to her hands tightly clasped on her lap. As soon as she realized it, she dashed her hands roughly over her eyes. Lackaday ventured the tip of his finger on her sleeve. "It's a sorry show, isn't it? I'm not very proud of myself. But perhaps you understand now why I left you in ignorance." "Yet you told Anthony. Why not me?" I was about to rise, this being surely a matter for them to battle out between themselves, but I at once felt her powerful grip on my arm. Whether she was afraid of herself or of Lackaday, I did not know. Anyway, I seemed to represent to her some kind of human dummy which could be used, at need, as a sentimental buffer. "I presume," she continued, "I was quite as intimate a friend as Anthony?" "Quite," said he. "But Hylton's a man and you're a woman. There can be no comparison. You are on different planes of sentiment. For instance, Hylton, loyal friend as he is, has not to my knowledge done me the honour of shedding tears over Petit Patou." I felt horribly out of place on the bench in this public leafy park, beside these two warring lovers. But it was most humanly interesting. Lackaday seemed to be reinvested with the dignity of the man as I had first met him, a year ago.