'Mr. Raymond!' she began suddenly, leaning closer to him over the table, 'surely it would be foolish in either of us to be ashamed, or to pretend forgetfulness of the close tie that was between us--once.' 'I have not forgotten,' he said involuntarily, then paused disconcerted at his own collapse. Which was true, his denial or affirmation of memory? Both, in a way. She smiled, as women do, at remembrance, even when they believe they wish forgetfulness. 'I said pretend, Mr. Raymond!' she corrected. 'We are not likely to forget. Why should we?' 'On the other hand, why should we remember?' he asked. 'The past, Lady Arbuthnot, is past.' The very idea of his thinking it necessary to assert this made her frown. 'Exactly so; therefore I come to you because memory gives me a friend, nothing more. And I need a friend just now.' 'You have plenty of them to choose from,' he began, 'you always had----' 'And I choose you,' she put in, with a charming little nod. He sat bewildered for a moment, then said stiffly, 'May I ask why?' 'If I may answer by the question, why not? Surely we need not be strangers? And besides----' 'And besides?'--he echoed grimly, 'a woman's second reason is generally better than her first.' Lady Arbuthnot's face grew grave. 'Mine is, Mr. Raymond, infinitely better. What I want your help for is no mere personal matter; it is something in which you might do a yeoman's service to the Government----' 'You are very kind,' he interrupted brusquely; 'but, as I thought you knew, I found out twelve years ago that the Government could do very well without my services.' 'It might have done better with them----' 'You are very kind,' he repeated; 'and this difficulty of yours?' She flushed up. 'Excuse me! It was you, not I, who wandered from the point. I knew my reasons for choosing your help. However, let us stick to business. I have lost a jewel-case.' 'So I heard,' he said, 'and I am sorry it should have contained your pearls.' Pearls! she thought vexedly; did he think she had come to him about the pearls? That was but a step better than Stilton cheese. His following words, however, disarmed her. 'They belonged to your mother, I remember; they were beautiful pearls!' 'Yes!' she assented softly, and paused. 'But it is not the pearls,' she went on. 'I will tell you what it is, and why I am anxious.' He sat listening to her story with rather a bored look. 'It is most unlikely the letter will turn up,' he said at last. 'An Indian thief would throw it away, even though, as you say, it was in a sealed official envelope; he knows nothing of the value of documents. But it is a pity you kept it; for that matter, had it. That sort of thing is a mistake.' Something in his tone made her say quickly, 'You blame father--why? You know how he trusted me-how you----' She felt inclined to remind him of his own confidence in her, but she refrained. 'Remember I have always----' 'Been in the swim,' he suggested.