He bit his lip to keep down his anger. Why had he allowed her to do _anything_--why hadn't he written it all down in words of one syllable? "We'll have to think of some reason for a change in their plans. Why couldn't they have postponed the party?" "Even if they did they wouldn't postpone _me_. I go there often, they're old friends, it doesn't matter when I come." Her voice had a quavering note, new to him, and extremely alarming. "Dearest, don't get worked up over it," he said tenderly. "Worked up!" she exclaimed. "Wouldn't any girl be worked up? It's _awful_ for a person in my position to elope. It's all very well for you who just go and come as you please, but for me--I believe if I was in prison I could get out easier." He caught her hand and pressed it between his own. "Of course, it's hard for you. No one knows that better than I, and that you should do it makes me love you more--if that's possible." He raised the hand to his lips, kissed it softly and dropped it. "I know how you can manage--it's as easy as possible. Say you have a headache, a splitting headache, and can't take the railway trip, but rather than disappoint them you'll go down the next day." She drew her hand out of his, and said in a stubborn voice: "No. I don't want to." "Why? Now why, darling? What's wrong about that?" "I won't tell any more lies to Lorry." He looked at her, and saw her flushed, mutinous, tears standing in her eyes. "But, dearest--" She cut him off, her voice suddenly breaking: "I can't do it. I didn't know it was going to be so dreadful. But I can't look at Lorry and tell her any more lies. I _wont_. It makes me sick. It's asking too much, Boye. There's something hateful about it." Her underlip quivered, drew in like a child's. With a shaking hand she began fumbling about her belt for her handkerchief. "Sometimes I feel as if I was doing wrong," she faltered. "I love you, I've told you so--but--but--Lorry's not like anybody else--anyway to me. And to keep on telling her what isn't true makes me feel--like--like--a _yellow dog!"_ The last words came on a breaking sob, and the handkerchief went up to her face. Mayer was frightened. A quick glance round the plaza showed him no one was in sight, and he threw him arm about her and drew the weeping head down to his shoulder. Though the green paradise plume was in the way and his fear of passersby acute, he was still sufficiently master of himself to soothe with words of beguiling sweetness. While he did it, his free hand holding the paradise plume out of his face, his eye nervously ranging the prospect, his mind ran over ways to meet the difficulty. By the time Chrystie had conquered her tears, and, with a creaking of tight-drawn silks, was sitting upright again, he had hit on a solution and was ready to broach it. "Well, then, we'll rule out any more lies as you call them. You won't have to say another word to Lorry. We can go on just as we'd planned."