"Why not have your fiancé in here? I'm going to bed."
"Oh, no, I wouldn't think of turning you out. I'll see him in my bedroom; it's safer, and if one's conscience is clear it doesn't matter what people say."
A few days afterwards, as I was slinging my paintbox over my shoulders, I heard some one stop in the passage, and speaking to me through the open door she said:
"You were so awfully decent the other night when Donald looked in. I know you will think it cheek; I am the most impudent woman in the world; but do you mind my telling mamma that I am going to the Louvre with you to see the pictures? You won't give me away, will you?"
"I never split on any one."
"My poor darling ought to go back. He's away from the office without leave, and he may get the sack; but he's going to stay another night. Can you come now? Mamma is in the salon. Come just to say a word to her and we will go out together. Donald is waiting at the corner."
Next morning as I was shaving I heard a knock at my door.
"Entré!"
"Oh, I beg your pardon, but I didn't want to miss you. I'll wait for you in the salon."
When I came downstairs she showed me a wedding ring. She had married Donald, or said she had.