"Nonsense. It's a weakness. I'm not Garvington. By the way, where is he?"
"In Paris, but he returns in a few days."
"Then don't let him meddle with this matter, or he'll put things wrong."
"I shall allow no one but yourself to meddle, Clara, Garvington shan't know a single thing."
Miss Greeby nodded. "Right. All we wish kept quiet would be in the papers if Garvington gets hold of our secrets. He's a loose-tongued little glutton. Well, good-bye, old chap, and do look after yourself. Good people are scarce."
Lambert gripped her large hand. "I'm awfully obliged to you, Clara."
"Wait until I do something before you say that, old son," she laughed and strode towards the door. "By the way, oughtn't I to send the doctor in?"
"No. Confound the doctor! I'm all right. You'll see me on my legs in a few days."
"Then we can work together at the case. Keep your flag flying, old chap, for I'm at the helm to steer the bark." And with this nautical farewell she went off with a manly stride, whistling a gay tune.
Left alone, the invalid looked into the fire, and wondered if he had been right to trust her. After some thought, he concluded that it was the best thing he could have done, since, in his present helpless state, he needed some one to act as his deputy. And there was no doubt that Miss Greeby had entirely overcome the passion she had once entertained for him.