‘Very well,’ said Mr Bethany crisply, ‘that’s settled, then. With your permission, my dear,’ he added, turning untarnishably clear childlike eyes on Sheila, ‘I will take all risks—even to the foot of the gibbet: accessory, Danton, _after_ the fact.’ And so direct and cloudless was his gaze that Sheila tried in vain to evade it and to catch a glimpse of Danton’s small agate-like eyes, now completely under mastery, and awaiting confidently the meeting with her own. ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘I am entirely in your hands, dear Mr Bethany.’ CHAPTER ELEVEN Lawford slept far into the cloudy Monday morning, to wake steeped in sleep, lethargic, and fretfully haunted by inconclusive remembrances of the night before. When Sheila, with obvious and capacious composure, brought him his breakfast tray, he watched her face for some time without speaking. ‘Sheila,’ he began, as she was about to leave the room again. She paused, smiling. ‘Did anything happen last night? Would you mind telling me, Sheila? Who was it was here?’ Her lids the least bit narrowed. ‘Certainly, Arthur; Mr Danton was here.’ ‘Then it was not a dream?’ ‘Oh no,’ said Sheila. ‘What did I say? What did _he_ say? It was hopeless, anyhow.’ ‘I don’t quite understand what you mean by “hopeless,” Arthur. And must I answer the other questions?’ Lawford drew his hand over his face, like a tired child. ‘He didn’t—believe?’ ‘No, dear,’ said Sheila softly. ‘And you, Sheila?’ came the subdued voice. Sheila crossed slowly to the window. ‘Well, quite honestly, Arthur, I was not very much surprised. Whatever we are agreed about on the whole, you were scarcely yourself last night.’ Lawford shut his eyes, and re-opened them full on his wife’s calm scrutiny, who had in that moment turned in the light of the one drawn blind to face him again. ‘Who is? Always?’ ‘No,’ said Sheila; ‘but—it was at least unfortunate. We can’t, I suppose, rely on Dr Bethany alone.’ Lawford crouched over his food. ‘Will he blab?’ ‘Blab! Mr Danton is a gentleman, Arthur.’ Lawford rolled his eyes as if in temporary vertigo. ‘Yes,’ he said. And Sheila once more prepared to make a reposeful exit. ‘I don’t think I can see Simon this morning.’ ‘Oh. Who, then?’ ‘I mean I would prefer to be left alone.’ ‘Believe me, I had no intention to intrude.’ And this time the door really closed. ‘He is in a quiet, soothing sleep,’ said Sheila a few minutes later.