"Why, you told——"
"I'm supposed to be a married woman."
"Why didn't you give your name and address at the police station?" said he. "They'd have let you go at once."
"Yes, I know," replied she. "But the newspapers would probably have published it. So—I couldn't. As it is I've been worrying for fear I'd be recognized, and the man would get a write-up."
"That was square," said he. "Yes, it'd have been a dirty trick to drag him in."
It was the matter-of-course to both of them that she should have protected her "friend." She had simply obeyed about the most stringent and least often violated article in the moral code of the world of outcasts. If Freddie's worst enemy in that world had murdered him, Freddie would have used his last breath in shielding him from the common foe, the law.
"If you're not married to him, you're free," said Freddie with a sudden new kind of interest in her.
"I told you I should always be free."
They remained facing each other a moment. When she moved to go, he said:
"I see you've still got your taste in dress—only more so."