He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. It has been proved. He could not possibly lunge in the confined space, and so had nothing to do but back himself into the chapel as fast as he could. “Ruin me? For what? Posterity? How could you ruin me, Lucy? What on earth are you talking about?” He got up and began to pace the room. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. He was well mounted, as was his companion; and had pistols in his holsters, and a hanger at his girdle. .
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