"O, those so manifest this morning were hers. I understand now.
But where are mine?"
"I cannot tell you. But they are safe."
"You threw them away."
"Never."
"Why, then, can't you tell me where they are?"
"Because—because—Well—I can't; so you need not ask me."
"If you don't tell me, I'll find out for myself."
"You cannot," he said confidently.
"Mr. Hemstead, what is that queer crimson fringe rising above your collar?"
He put his hand hastily to his neck, and felt the ribbon that his stooping posture and violent exercise had forced into a prominence that defied further concealment; then turned away laughing, and, with his face now vying with the Sunset, said, "You have caught an ostrich hiding with its head in the sand."