Miss Armytage’s own notions of what might be fit and proper for her virginal ears were by no means coincident with Lady O’Moy’s. Thus, although you have seen her pass into the private quarters of the adjutant’s establishment, and although, in fact, she did withdraw to her own room, she found it impossible to abide there a prey to doubt and misgivings as to what Dick Butler might have done--doubt and misgivings, be it understood, entertained purely on Una’s account and not at all on Dick’s. By the corridor spanning the archway on the southern side of the quadrangle, and serving as a connecting bridge between the adjutant’s private and official quarters, Miss Armytage took her way to Sir Terence’s work-room, knowing that she would find Captain Tremayne there, and assuming that he would be alone. “May I come in?” she asked him from the doorway. He sprang to his feet. “Why, certainly, Miss Armytage.” For so imperturbable a young man he seemed oddly breathless in his eagerness to welcome her. “Are you looking for O’Moy? He left me nearly half-an-hour ago to go to breakfast, and I was just about to follow.” “I scarcely dare detain you, then.” “On the contrary. I mean... not at all. But... were you wanting me?” She closed the door, and came forward into the room, moving with that supple grace peculiarly her own. “I want you to tell me something, Captain Tremayne, and I want you to be frank with me.” “I hope I could never be anything else.” “I want you to treat me as you would treat a man, a friend of your own sex.” Tremayne sighed. He had recovered from the surprise of her coming and was again his imperturbable self. “I assure you that is the last way in which I desire to treat you. But if you insist--” “I do.” She had frowned slightly at the earlier part of his speech, with its subtle, half-jesting gallantry, and she spoke sharply now. “I bow to your will,” said Captain Tremayne. “What has Dick Butler been doing?” He looked into her face with sharply questioning eyes. “What was it that happened at Tavora?” He continued to look at her. “What have you heard?” he asked at last. “Only that he has done something at Tavora for which the consequences, I gather, may be grave. I am anxious for Una’s sake to know what it is.” “Does Una know?” “She is being told now. Count Samoval let slip just what I have outlined. And she has insisted upon being told everything.” “Then why did you not remain to hear?” “Because they sent me away on the plea that--oh, on the silly plea of my youth and innocence, which were not to be offended.” “But which you expect me to offend?” “No. Because I can trust you to tell me without offending.” “Sylvia!” It was a curious exclamation of satisfaction and of gratitude for the implied confidence. We must admit that it betrayed a selfish forgetfulness of Dick Butler and his troubles, but it is by no means clear that it was upon such grounds that it offended her.