"Er—I would like to find out if it was he who told."
"And then thrash him? You want the papers full of the whole affair, with portraits of the principals, and a description of your romantic—"
"God forbid!"
"How like a man! To get a girl talked about and then of course to want to thrash somebody! I've no patience with you. You must promise to behave yourself or I'll wash my hands of the whole affair."
He smiled down at his clasped hands. "I suppose you are right," he muttered.
"Right! Of course I am. This is a case which will require the most careful handling—a case for the subtlest diplomacy. If I am going to risk my reputation for veracity—and jeopardize my hopes of Heaven by the fibs that I must tell in your behalf, I don't propose to have my efforts spoiled by senseless bungling. Will you give me your promise?"
He shrugged. "I suppose there is nothing left for me to do."
She leaned forward toward the tea table with a laugh.
"I'm so glad that you are sensible. Now we shall have our tea. I owe you apologies. My business seemed more urgent than my hospitality."
They sat and chatted for a while, Markham sipping his tea and wondering why he was imparting to this stout and very amiable old lady all his life's secrets. A half hour later, when he rose to go, he realized that he had told her all about his week in Vagabondia, including its sudden termination. She surprised him at intervals by the sympathy of her appreciation, and at others equally serious by an unseemly mirth or an impatience which they had not merited. But when he got up to go she followed him to the door and gave him both of her hands again.