He closed his eyes, and the girl sat studying his face in the dim light, graving it deep on her inner vision, seeking to formulate some conception of the strange being so still and placid before her. How had she ever thought him ridiculous and uncouth? How had she ever dared to insult him by distrust? What did it matter what other men, estimating him by their own sordid standards, said of him? As if her thought had established a connection with his, he opened his eyes and sat up. “I knew there was something I wanted to ask you,” he said. “What did your ‘Never, never, never’ mean?” “A foolish misunderstanding that I’m ashamed of.” “Was it that—that woman-gossip business?” “Yes. I was stupid. Will you forgive me?” “What is there to forgive? Some time, perhaps, you’ll understand the whole thing.” “Please don’t let’s say anything more about it. I _do_ understand.” This was not quite true. All that Polly Brewster knew was that, with those clear gray eyes meeting hers, she would have believed his honor clean and high against the world. The presence of the woman, even that dress fluttering in the wind, was susceptible of a hundred simple explanations. “Ah, that’s all right, then.” There was relief in his tone. “Of course, in a place like this there is a lot of gossip and criticism. And when one runs counter to the general law—” “Counter to the law?” “Yes. As a rule, I’m not ‘beyond the pale of law,’” he said, smiling. “But down here one isn’t bound by the same conventions as at home.” The girl’s hand went to her throat in a piteous gesture. “I—I—don’t understand. I don’t want to understand.” “There’s got to be a certain broad-mindedness in these matters,” he blundered on, with what seemed to her outraged senses an abominable jauntiness. “But the risk was small for me, and, of course, for her, anything was better than the other life. At that, I don’t see how the truth reached you. What is it, Miss Polly?” Rage, grief, and shame choked the girl’s utterance. Without a word, she ran from the room, leaving her companion a prey to troubled wonder. In the _patio_, she turned sharply to avoid a group gathered around Galpy, who, with a patch over one eye, was trying to impart some news between gasps. “Got it from the bulletin board of _La Liberdad_,” he cried. “Killed; body gone; devil to pay all over the place.” “What’s that?” demanded the Unspeakable Perk, running out, coatless and goggleless. “There’s been another riot, and Dr. Luther Pruyn is killed,” explained Sherwen. “Who says so?” “Bulletin board—_La Liberdad_—just saw it,” panted Galpy. “Nonsense! It’s a _bola_.” “The whole city is ringing with it. They say it was a plot to get him out of the way to stop quarantine. The Foreign Office is buzzing with inquiries, and Puerto del Norte is burning up the wires.” “Puerto del Norte! How did they hear?” “Telephone, of course. I hear Wisner is coming up,” said Sherwen.