A man came out into the garden and lit a cigar; she knew it was Harry; she did not move. He sauntered toward the bridge; she held her ground; though he should strike her, she would have speech with him to-night. He was by the bridge and had his hand on the gate at the Blent end of it before he saw her. He stood still a moment, then came to her side, and leant as she was leaning over the parapet. He was bare-headed--she saw his thick hair and his peaked forehead; he smoked steadily; he showed no surprise at seeing her, and he did not speak to her for a long time. At last, still without looking at her, he began. She could just make out his smile, or thought she could; at any rate she was sure it was there. "Well, Mina de Kries?" said he. She started a little. "Oh, I don't believe in the late Zabriska; I don't believe you're grown up; I think you're about fifteen--a beastly age." He put his cigar back in his mouth. "You see that window?" he resumed in a moment. "And you know what's happening behind it? My mother's dying there. Well, how's the Major? Has he got that trick in better order yet?" She found her tongue with difficulty. "Does Lady Tristram know about--about me?" she stammered. "I sometimes lie to my mother," said Harry, flicking his ash into the river. "Why do you lie to your uncle, though?" "I didn't lie. You know I didn't lie." He shrugged his shoulders wearily and relapsed into silence. Silence there was till, a minute or two later, it was broken by a little sob from Mina Zabriska. He turned his head toward her; then he took hold of her arm and twisted her face round to him. The tears were running down her cheeks. "I'm so, so sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean to; and I did it! And now--now I can't stop it. You needn't believe me if you don't like, but I'm--I'm miserable and--and frightened." He flung his cigar into the water and put his hands in his pockets. So he stood watching her, his body swaying a little to and fro; his eyes were suspicious of her, yet they seemed amused also, and they were not cruel; it was not such a look as he had given her when they parted by the Pool. "If it were true?" she asked. "I mean, couldn't Lady Tristram somehow----?" "If what was true? Oh, the nonsense you told Duplay?" He laughed. "If it was true, I should be a nobody and nobody's son. I suppose that would amuse you very much, wouldn't it? You wouldn't have come to Merrion for nothing then! But as it isn't true, what's the use of talking?" He won no belief from her when he said that it was not true; to her quick mind the concentrated bitterness with which he described what it would mean to him showed that he believed it and that the thought was no new one; in imagination he had heard the world calling him many times what he now called himself--if the thing were true. She drew her cloak round her and shivered. "Cold?" he asked. "No. Wretched, wretched." "Would you like to see my mother?" "You wouldn't let her see me?"