And having said it she had said all. I saw the beginning of the fires again. She went straight on. "Now what were you going to tell me?" Remember it was not yet eighteen hours since Derwent Rose had thrust me out of his door, torn between an angel and a devil within himself. But what are eighteen hours to a man who has two scales of time? To him they might represent years of experience. He had clung desperately to his better man, but--who knew?--already he might be less accessible to the angelic. If I was not already too late, to catch him while he was of that same mind and will was the important thing. If this woman who had just told me with such touching simplicity that she had loved him all her life was indeed his good angel, it seemed to me that here was her work waiting for her. I saw her as none the less loving that she could vehemently hate for the protection of her love. That she would fly to him the moment her mind grasped his story I had not an instant's doubt. Nor did I stop to consider that I might be betraying something he did not wish known. It was no time for subtleties. Remembering his anguish, I did not think he would refuse any help that was to be had. Here by my side was his cure if cure there was to be found. Still with her hands in mine, I took my plunge. The first time she interrupted me was very much where I had interrupted him. She wanted to know, apart from mere imaginary changes that might have been due to variable health, what visible proofs there were of all this. I wished to spare her those two ( )'s on Rose's neck, but she smiled ever so faintly. "Yes, you're all nice dears. But I know perfectly well the kind of thing it might be. So don't let that trouble you. It's important, you know." So I told her. She merely nodded. "He never did know anything about women," she said. "Go on." Her next interruption came when I spoke of his tearing the book, though this was more of a confirmation than a true interruption. "He was a perfectly glorious athlete," she remarked calmly, "but he always hated pot-hunting, and later of course his books interfered with his training a good deal. I remember once ... but never mind. I wonder if we shall have all that over again?" "Then you've managed to swallow the monstrous thing so far?" I said in wonder. "I told you his life had been one marvellous mistake after another. Go on," she replied. But as I proceeded her calm became less and less assured. I was purposely omitting from my account such elements as might tend to agitate her, but she seemed to divine this, and perhaps she thought I suppressed more than I did. Suddenly she broke out: "Never mind all that about ratios. I don't know anything about ratios. The point is, when does he expect the next--attack?" "I hardly know--I rather think----" I began, now quite violently holding her hands, which she had tried to withdraw. She had also attempted to rise. "Soon? A month? A week? To-morrow?" she demanded.