"Forgive me, Miss Gray, if I say that you mistake me utterly. I mean always what I say--most of all to you. But to say all that I mean--to put into speech all that one hopes or dreams--or dares,"--his voice dropped to a whisper--"to turn oneself inside out like an empty pocket to the gaze of the multitude--that is--imbecile." He threw out his hands with an expressive gesture. "But to speak concretely--I have unhappily offended you, Miss Gray. Something I have done, or left undone--or my unfortunate personality does not engage your interest. Is it not true?" There was no mistaking his sincerity now. But the girl still held aloof, her blue eyes cool and watchful. For the moment, her face, in its young hardness, bore a curious resemblance to her uncle's. "Is that your question?" she demanded. The Count bowed silently. "Then I will tell you!" She spoke in a low voice surcharged with emotion. "I will give you candour for candour, and make an end of all this make-believe." "That," he murmured, "is what I most desire." Doris continued, heedless of the interruption. "It is true that I dislike you. I am glad to be able to tell you as much openly. And yet, perhaps, I should use another word. I dislike your secrecy--something dark and hidden within you--and I fear your influence over my uncle. You have known me less than a fortnight--Mr. Farrington, less than a week--yet you have made what I can only conceive to be impertinent proposals of marriage to me. To-day you were for three hours with my uncle. I can only guess what your business has been." "You would probably guess wrong," he said coolly. Farrington, at the other end of the box, shot a swift, suspicious glance across. Poltavo turned to the girl again. "I want only to be a friend of yours in the day of your need," he said, in a low voice; "believe me, that day is not far distant." "That is true?" She leaned toward him, a little troubled. He bowed his head in assent. "If I could believe you," she faltered. "I need a friend! Oh, if you could know how I have been torn by doubts--beset by fears--oppressions." Her voice quivered. "There is something wrong somewhere--I can't tell you everything--if you would help me--wait. May I test you with a question?" "A thousand if you like." "And you will answer--truthfully?" In her eagerness she was like a child. He smiled. "If I answer at all, be sure it will be truthful." "Tell me then, is Dr. Fall your friend?" "He is my dearest enemy," he returned, promptly. He had only the dimmest notion as to the identity of Dr. Fall, but it seemed that a lie was demanded--Poltavo could lie very easily. "Or Mr. Gorth?" she asked, and he shook his head. She drew a deep breath of relief. "And my uncle?" The question was a whisper. She appeared to hang upon his reply.