depressed, then as he saw her struggling to undo the knot that held the
comforter about her, he forgot everything but the pleasure of doing her
a service. And in the midst of this joy, the coverlet slid to the ground
and revealed her clad from head to foot in his sister's sables.

There was a pause.

"What are you looking at?" she asked.

"That is a nice warm coat you have on."

"Isn't it?" She rubbed her cheek against the high collar with a
tenderness trying to any masculine onlooker. "It saved my life."

It was on the tip of Geoffrey's tongue to ask if he was not entitled to
a similar claim on her consideration, but he suppressed it. Was it
possible that she did not know that the garments she wore were stolen?
Could any sane woman really believe that sable coats fell naturally to
the lot of night watchmen? Her manner was candour itself, but how should
it not be? What more inevitable than that she should make an effort to
deceive a casual stranger? She had the most evident motives for behaving
exactly as she did. Just so, however, he had reasoned about McVay, and
yet McVay had been sincere. There had been a girl in distress exactly as
he had said. It was contrary to all reason, but it was true. Might not
the girl be true too? Was it not possible, he asked himself, and
answered that it was more than possible, it was the truth. He chose to
believe in her, and turned his anger against McVay, who could drag her
through such a mire. He felt the tragedy of a high-minded woman tricked
out in stolen finery, and remembered with a pang that he himself was
hurrying on the moment of disillusion.