wandering on old Wayne's terrace, just in the nick of time. What stumps me
is the promptness with which you thought of stowing me away."

"It wasn't promptness, exactly. As a matter of fact, I had worked the
whole thing out beforehand."

His eyebrows went up incredulously. "For me?"

"No, not for you; for anybody. Ever since my guardian allowed me to build
the studio--last year--I've imagined how easy it would be for some--some
hunted person to stay hidden here, almost indefinitely. I've tried to
fancy it, when I've had nothing better to do."

"You don't seem to have had anything better to do very often," he
observed, glancing about the cabin.

"If you mean that I haven't painted much, that's quite true. I thought I
couldn't do without a studio--till I got one. But when I've come here, I'm
afraid it's generally been to--to indulge in day-dreams."

"Day-dreams of helping prisoners to escape. It wouldn't be every girl's
fancy, but it's not for me to complain of that."

"My father would have wanted me to do it," she declared, as if in
self-justification. "A woman once helped him to get out of prison."

"Good for her! Who was she?"

Having asked the question lightly, in a boyish impulse to talk, he was
surprised to see her show signs of embarrassment.