"Very few people know how rotten," Sarah went on. "She has lost nearly all her own relations in the war, her husband has spent the greater part of her fortune, flaunted his affairs with various actresses in the face of all London, shilly-shallied through the war as a recruiting officer, or on any odd job that kept him safely at home, and now he openly associates with a little company of men in the City who are out to make money any old way they can get hold of it." "Lord Dredlinton is a bad lot," Wingate acquiesced. "And Josephine is an angel," Sarah declared warmly. "If I were a man--" "Well, you're not," he interrupted. "If I were a man," she went on, laying her hand upon his, "I wouldn't let Josephine live out these best days of her life in sorrow. I wouldn't have her insulted and peered at, every hour of her life. I wouldn't see her living in torture, when all the time she has such a wonderful capacity for life and love. Do you know what I'd do, Mr. Wingate?" "What would you do?" he asked. "I'd take her away! I wouldn't care about anybody else or anything. If the world didn't approve, I'd make a little world of my own and put her in it. You're quite strong enough." He looked through the walls of the room, for a minute. "Yes, I am strong enough," he agreed, "but is she?" "Why do you doubt her?" Sarah demanded. "What has she in her present life to lose, compared with what she gains from you--what she wants more than anything else in the world--love?" He made no answer. The girl's words had thrilled him. Then the door swung open and Jimmy appeared, very pink and white, very immaculate, and looking rather more helpless than usual. "I say, Sarah," he exclaimed, "it's no use! There's a most infernal block down in the courtyard. Chap wanted me to push the taxi out into the street. It's cost me all the loose change I've got to stop his sending for a policeman. We'll have to do a scoot." Sarah sighed as her host arranged her cloak around her. "Sorry we couldn't have stayed a little longer," she said. "Mr. Wingate was just getting most interesting." "You'll have a drink before you go, Wilshaw?" Wingate insisted. "Say when." The young man accepted the whisky and soda and promptly disposed of it. "Thanks, old chap! Frightfully sorry to rush away like this, but that fellow downstairs means business." "Good night, Mr. Wingate," Sarah said, holding out her hand, "and thanks ever so much for the evening. You don't think I'm a forward little minx, do you?" "I think you're a sensible little dear," he assured her, "far too good for Jimmy." "Sorry I accepted your hospitality, if that's how you're feeling," Jimmy grunted. "By the by, you haven't a few cigarettes, have you, for me to smoke while Sarah tries to get me safely home?" Wingate held out the box. "Fill your case," he invited; "your pockets, too, if you like. Don't forget, both of you, luncheon at one-thirty to-morrow in the restaurant. Good night!"