He looked her steadily in the eyes: "I'll try to turn you into a British subject. One can't slam one's own country." "How could you turn me into such an object, Lord Dankmere?" "There's only one way." Innocent for a few moments of his meaning she smilingly and derisively defied him. Then, of a sudden, startled into immobility, the smile froze on her lips. At the swift change in her expression his own features were slowly and not unbecomingly suffused. Then, incredulous, and a little nervous, she rose to prepare the tea; and he sprang up to bring the folding table. The ceremony passed almost in silence; neither he nor she made the effort to return to the lighter, gayer vein. When they spoke at all it was on some matter connected with business; and her voice seemed to him listless, almost tired. Which was natural enough, for the heat had been trying, and, in spite of the open windows, no breath of coolness stirred the curtains. So the last minutes of the afternoon passed but the sunshine still reddened the cornices of the houses across the street when she rose to put away the tea-things. A little later she pinned on her hat and moved toward the front door with a friendly nod to him in silent adieu. "Will you let me walk home with you?" he said. "I--think--not, this evening." "Were you going anywhere?" She paused, her gloved hand on the knob, and he came up to her, slowly. "_Were_ you?" he repeated. "No." "Then--don't you care to let me walk with you?" She seemed to be thinking; her head was a trifle lowered. He said: "Before you go there is something I wanted to tell you"--she made an involuntary movement and the door opened and hung ajar letting in the lively music of a street-organ. Then he leaned over and quietly closed the door. "I'm afraid," he said, "that I'm taking an unwarrantable liberty by interfering in your affairs without consulting you." She looked up at him, surprised. "It happened yesterday about this hour," he said. "What happened?" "Do you remember that you went home about three o'clock instead of waiting until this hour as usual?" "Yes." "Well, this is what occurred. I left the gallery at this same hour. Ahead of me descending the steps was a young girl who had just delivered a business letter to Mr. Quarren. As she set foot on the pavement a footman attached to an automobile drawn up across the street touched his cap to her and said: 'Beg pardon, Miss Vining, I am Mr. Sprowl's man. Mr. Sprowl would like to see you at the Café Cammargue. The car is waiting.'" Miss Vining's colour faded; she stared at Dankmere with widening eyes, and he dropped his hands into his coat-pockets and returned her gaze. "I don't understand you," she said in a low voice. "Neither did the young girl addressed by the footman. Neither did I. But I was interested. So I said to the footman: 'Bring around your car. I shall have to explain about Miss Vining to Mr. Sprowl.'" "What!" she said breathlessly.