"Yes. Honest is the word. I might add two others: 'true' and 'loyal.'" Paul Van Vreck held her with his strange, straight look, commanding, yet amused. "That is the opinion," he added after a pause, "of a very old friend. It's worth its weight in--gold images." The girl gave him no answer. But the effort of keeping her face under control made lips and eyelids quiver. "May I sit down, Mrs. Donaldson?" Van Vreck asked in a tone which changed to commonplaceness--if his voice could ever be commonplace. "I'm a fugitive, and have had a run for my money, so to speak. I'm seeking sanctuary. Also I came in the hope of trying my eloquence on Donaldson. But now I've seen you, I will not do that. In future he's safe from me, I promise you." "Oh!" Annesley faltered. And then: "Thank you!" came out, grudgingly. How astonishing that _she_ should thank Paul Van Vreck, the monster of wickedness and secrecy she had pictured, for "sparing" her husband--her husband whom _he_ called loyal, true, and honest; whom she had called in her heart a thief! "Do sit down," she hurried on, hypnotized. "Forgive my not asking you. I----" "I understand," he soothed her. "I've taken advantage of you--sprung a surprise, as Don would say, and then turned on the tortures of the Inquisition. Aren't _you_ going to sit? I can't, you know, if you don't." "I thought you might like something to eat," the girl stammered. "I could call our cook----" "No, thank you," replied Van Vreck. "I'm peculiar in more ways than one. I never eat at night. I live mostly on milk, water, fruit, and nuts. That's why I feel forty at seventy-two. I give out that I'm frail--an invalid--that I spend much time in nursing homes. This is my joke on a public which has no business to be curious about my habits. While it thinks I'm recuperating in a nursing home I--but no matter! That won't interest you." When she had obediently sat down, her knees trembling a little, Van Vreck drew up a chair for himself, and, resting his arms on the table, leaned across it gazing at the girl with a queer, humorous benevolence. "How soon do you think your husband will come?" he asked, abruptly. "I don't know," Annesley replied. "He told our Chinese boy he'd be early. I suppose the sandstorm has delayed him." "No doubt.... And you're worried?" "No-o," she answered, looking sidewise at Van Vreck, her face half turned from him. "I don't think that I'm worried." "May I talk to you frankly till Don does come?" the old man asked. "Certainly."