Dare experienced a curious exasperation in the knowledge that the Carruthers both doubted the disinterestedness of his purpose in seeking to be of use to Pamela. A man may befriend the woman he loves without any base thought in connection with her. In coming to Wynberg to see Pamela, Dare had no other intention than to be of service to her. The doubtful possibility of being able to serve a woman whose husband has presumably deserted her, did not strike him. Once in possession of the facts he would be in a position at least to advise her; might, if things were not as Carruthers represented them, assist in putting a stop to the scandal that was afloat. It was abominable to reflect that Pamela's name was being bandied about at the clubs. Pamela was in the garden when Dare called in the morning. The boy was asleep on a kaross spread under the trees, and she was seated in a chair near him, sewing, when Dare opened the gate and entered. The sound of his footsteps on the hard gravel caused her to look up; and an expression of quick alarm showed in her face as her eyes met his. He advanced swiftly towards her; and, as he crossed the lawn, she rose and stood, flushed, embarrassed, painfully self-conscious, looking at him in a dismayed silence which she seemed unable to break. Dare spoke first. "I've sprung a surprise on you," he said, and took her proffered hand and held it firmly gripped in his. "I'm staying next door." "I didn't know you were expected," Pamela returned, recovering herself with an effort, and giving him a welcoming smile. "I haven't seen Connie for days." "It was a surprise for her too," he admitted. "I came self-invited. Are you busy? I should like to stay for a chat, if I may." "That's my only business at present," she said, and pointed towards the sleeping child. "I'm on guard." Dare looked down at the child. "The little chap grows," he remarked. "He was only a baby when last I saw him. How's the girlie?" "Oh! very well. If you stay you will see her later. She is out at present. Sit down, won't you?" He drew a chair forward facing hers on the side farthest away from the child, and sat down. It recalled, save for the boy's unconscious presence, the afternoon when he had last sat there with her, and had wrung from her the promise which she had failed to keep. "It is like old times, this," he observed, and scrutinised her thoughtfully as he sat back in his seat. Despite the flush in her cheeks which the sight of him had brought there, he could not fail to detect traces of the trouble which had wrought such a marked change in her appearance that, had he needed assurance there was something in what Carruthers had told him, her face would have supplied the necessary proof. "I'm awfully glad to see you again. I came with that object," he said. "To see me!" Pamela looked puzzled. "To see you," he repeated. "Do you remember something I asked you to do in this garden, the last time we sat here?"