"In other words I'm a fool, as you were good enough to say----"

"Oh, do forget that. I couldn't help saying it, as I think you ought to admit; but don't keep bringing it up every time I do my best to meet you pleasantly. I'm not going to quarrel with you any more, Rash.

I've made a vow to that effect and I'm going to keep it. But if I'm to keep it on my side you mustn't badger me on yours. It doesn't do me any good, and it does yourself a lot of harm." Having delivered this homily she took a tone of brisk cheerfulness. "Now, you said over the phone that you were coming to tell me good news."

"Well, that was it."

"What was it?"

"That she was ready to do anything--even to disappear."

"And you wouldn't let her."

"That I couldn't let her--with nothing to show for it."

"But she will have something to show for it--in the end. She knows that as well as I do. Do you suppose for a minute that she doesn't understand the kind of man she's dealing with?"

"You mean that----?"

"Rash, dear, no girl who knows as much as this girl knows could help seeing at a glance that she's got a pigeon to pluck, as the French say, and of course she means to pluck it. You can't blame her for that, being what she is; but for heaven's sake let her pluck it in her own way. Don't be a simpleton. Angels shouldn't rush in where fools would fear to tread--and you _are_ an angel, Rash, though I suppose I'm the only one in the world who sees it."

"Thank you, Barbe. I know you feel kindly toward me, and that, as you say, you're the only one in the world who does. That's all right, I acknowledge it, and I'm grateful. What I don't like is to see you taking it for granted that this girl is merely playing a game----"

"Rash, do you remember those two winters I worked in the Bleary Street Settlement? and do you remember that the third winter I said that I'd rather enlist in the Navy that go back to it again? You all thought that I was cynical and hard-hearted, but I'll tell you now what the trouble was. I went down there thinking I could teach those girls--that I could do them good--and raise them up--and have them call me blessed--and all that. Well, there wasn't one of them who hadn't forgotten more than I ever knew--who wasn't working me when I supposed she was hanging on my wisdom--who wasn't laughing at me behind my back when I was under the delusion that she was following my good example. And if you've got one of them on your hands she'll fool the eyes out of your head."

"You think so," he said, drily. "Then I don't."

"In that case there's no use discussing it any further."

"There may be after you've seen her."

"How can I see her?"

"You can go to the house."

"And tell her I know everything?"

"If you like. You could say I told you in confidence--that you're an old friend of mine."

"And nothing else?"

"Since you only want to size her up I should think that would be enough."

She nodded, slowly. "Yes, I think you're right. Better not give anything away we can keep to ourselves. Now tell me what happened this morning. You haven't done it yet."

He told her everything--how he had been waked by hearing someone fumbling with the lock of the door, whether inside or outside the house he couldn't tell--how he had gone to the head of the stairs and switched on the lower hall light--how she had flung herself against the door as a little gray bird might dash itself against its cage in its pa.s.sion to escape.

"She staged it well, didn't she? She must have brains."

"She has brains all right, but I don't think----"

"She knew of course that if she made enough noise someone would come, and she'd get the credit for good intentions."

"I really don't think, Barbe.... Now let me tell you. You'll _see_ what she's like. I felt very much as you do. I was right on the jump.

Got all worked up. Would have gone clean off the hooks if----"

There followed the narrative of his loss of temper, of his wild talk, of her clever strategy in counting ten--"just like a cold douche it was"--and the faint turn he so often had after spells of emotion. To convince Miss Walbrook of the queer little thing's ingenuousness he told how she had made him lie down on the library couch, covered him up, rubbed his brow with Florida water, and induced the best sleep he had had in months.

She surprised him by springing to her feet, her arms outspread. "You great big idiot! Really there's no other name for you!"

He gazed up at her in amazement. "What's the matter now?"

Flinging her hands about she made inarticulate sounds of exasperation beyond words.

"There, there; that'll do," she threw off, when he jumped to her side, to calm her by taking her in his arms. "_I'm_ not off the hooks. _I_ don't want anyone to rub Florida water on my brow--and hold my hand--and cradle me to sleep----"

"She didn't," he exclaimed, with indignation. "She never touched my hand. She just----"

"Oh, I know what she did--and of course I'm grateful. I'm delighted that she was there to do it--_delighted._ I quite see now why you couldn't let her go, when you knew your fit was coming on. I've seen you pretty bad, but I've never seen you as bad as that; and I must say I never should have thought of counting ten as a cure for it."

"Well, _she_ did."

"Quite so! And if I were you I'd never go anywhere without her. I'd keep her on hand in case I took a turn----"

He was looking more and more reproachful. "I must say, Barbe, I don't think you're very reasonable."

She pushed him from her with both hands against his shoulders. "Go away, for heaven's sake! You'll drive me crazy. I'm _not_ going to lose my temper with you. I'll never do it again. I've got you to bear with, and I'm going to bear with you. But go! No, go now! Don't stop to make explanations. You can do that later. I'll lay in a supply of Florida water and an afghan...."

He went with that look on his face which a well meaning dog will wear when his good intentions are being misinterpreted. On his way to the office he kept saying to himself: "Well _I_ don't know what to do.

Whatever I say she takes me up the wrong way. All I wanted was for her to understand that the little thing is a _good_ little thing...."

Chapter XVI

While Allerton was making these reflections Steptoe was summoned to the telephone.

"Is this you, Steptoe? I'm Miss Barbara Walbrook."

Steptoe braced himself. In conversing with Miss Barbara Walbrook he always felt the need of inner strengthening. "Yes, Miss Walbrook?"

"Mr. Allerton tells me you've a young woman at the house."

"We 'ave a young lydy. Certainly, miss."

"And Mr. Allerton has asked me to call on her."

Steptoe's training as a servant permitted him no lapses of surprise.