"It was n't anything I did?" "No, no," she assured him. "You've been so good, Monte." He was so good with her now--so gentle and considerate. It made her heart ache. With her chin in hand, elbow upon the arm of her chair, she was apparently looking at him more or less indifferently, when what she would have liked to do was to smooth away the perplexed frown between his brows. "Then," he asked, "your coming here has n't anything to do with me?" She could not answer that directly. With her cheeks burning and her lips dry, she tried to think just what to say. Above all things, she must not worry him! "It has to do with you and myself and--Peter Noyes," she answered. "Peter Noyes!" He sat upright. "He is at the Hôtel des Roses--with his sister," Marjory ran on hurriedly. "They are both old friends, and I met them quite by accident last night. Suddenly, Monte,--they made my position there impossible. They gave me a new point of view on myself--on you. I guess it was an American point of view. What had seemed right before did not seem right then." "Is that why you resumed your maiden name?" "That is why. But sooner or later Peter will know the truth, won't he?" "How will he know?" "The name you signed on the register." "That's so, too," Monte admitted. "But that says only 'Madame Covington.' Madame Covington might be any one." He smiled, but his lips were tense. "She may have been called home unexpectedly." The girl hid her face in her hands. He rose and stepped to her side. "There, there," he said gently. "Don't worry about that. There is no reason why they should ever associate you with her. If they make any inquiries of me about madame, I'll just say she has gone away for a little while--perhaps for a week or two. Is that right?" "I--I don't know." "Nothing unusual about that. Wives are always going away. Even Chic's wife goes away every now and then. As for you, little woman, I think you did the only thing possible. I met that Peter Noyes this morning." Startled, she raised her face from her hands. "You met--Peter Noyes?" she asked slowly. "Quite by chance. He was on his way to walk, and I took him with me. He's a wonderful fellow, Marjory." "You talked with him?" He nodded. "He takes life mighty seriously." "Too seriously, Monte," she returned. "It's what made him blind; and yet--there 's something worth while about a man who gets into the game that way. Hanged if he did n't leave me feeling uncomfortable." She looked worried. "How, Monte?" "Oh, as though I ought to be doing something instead of just kicking around the Continent. Do you know I had a notion of studying law at one time?" "But there was no need of it, was there?" "Not in one way. Only, I suppose I could have made myself useful somewhere, even if I did n't have to earn a living. Maybe there's a use for every one--somewhere."