She rose too in sudden surprise, and they stood facing each other against that background of white marble and scarlet outspread poinsettia. 'Then it was something else,' she said; 'I thought it must be _this_.' He took the letter she held out, and read it. 'It says nothing definitely,' she went on, 'but--but I think it must be that; don't you? If so, what ought we to do?' The 'we' struck him sharply, and he asked, 'Have you told Sir George?' 'Told him?' she echoed, flushing a little. 'No! I wish, now, I had, at first; he--he would have faced the possible danger by this time. But now? now it is impossible, Mr. Raymond! I have thought it out thoroughly. It would be better to take the risk, if that is necessary. But it need not be, if you will help me.' He shook his head. 'Why should you not?' Her head was up, her beautiful face full of a faint scorn, her clear eyes were on his unflinchingly. He met her look, as he always met a challenge, with almost brutal sincerity. 'Because I do not choose to--to stultify the last ten years; because I gave up all that sort of thing when--when I said good-bye to you--here.' 'And you would let that stand between you and--no! not between you--but between death and life perhaps for others; between order and disorder, anyhow. You think it important, I know----' 'Sir George does not,' he interrupted. 'What does that matter? You are as capable of judging as he; perhaps more so! Why should you be a coward? Why should you, who possibly--no! probably--know far more of the ins and outs of the city than the regular officials?--Oh, don't deny it! Have I not heard them say, "Ask Raymond" this or that, and "Raymond will know," and have I not been glad--so glad that everything has not been spoilt! Why should you, I say, give up your own opinion? For it comes to that. What you came here to tell Sir George to-day, for instance; you must have thought it important, or you would not have come.' 'I came because I thought it my duty to acquaint the authorities with certain facts that had been brought to my notice. I have done so, and that ends it----' 'It does not end it! You and Sir George disagreed, you know you did, as to its importance. You still think you are right, and yet you yield to him--why?' There was a moment's pause, and then Jack Raymond gave a hard laugh. 'Why? I will tell you the truth, Lady Arbuthnot, though you may not like it--though I acknowledge it is humiliating--for all of us! Because I have had to yield to him before. Because he hasn't forgotten, and I haven't forgotten, and you haven't forgotten--not quite, have you? It is nothing to be ashamed of; it is only natural--one of the limitations of life--but there it is, isn't it?' He took a step nearer in the silence. 'Isn't it?' he repeated. 'Tell the truth, Grace, and shame--don't let us say the devil--but fate. There, put your hand in mine, and face our own--forgetfulness!'