But all her boldness of their first interview, her coquetry of the
second, her quiet caution of the third had disappeared. She was now
frightened, shy, anxious to get away.

"Oh, why did you come back? Why did you come back? Go away at once and
never come here again. Haven't you got a lesson?"

Her voice broke; her anxiety was visible. Max was touched, more
interested than ever.

"I can't go away," he whispered back, "until I have spoken to you about
something which is very serious. Can't you come out on the wharf,
somewhere where we can talk without anybody over-hearing?"

"Oh, no, oh, no. I must go in. And you must go. Are you a _fool_,"
and she stamped her foot with sudden impatience, "to be so persistent?"

"A fool?" echoed Max, half to himself. "By Jove, I think I am. Look
here," and he bent down so that he might whisper very close to her ear;
"I must set the police on this place, you know; but I want you to get
away out of it first."

She listened in silence. She waited for him to say more. But he was
waiting on his side for the protests he expected. At last she laughed to
herself derisively.

"All right," said she. "Set the police on us by all means. Oh, do--do!
But--just mention first to your friend, Mr. Horne, that that's what
you're going to do. Just mention it to him, and see the thanks you'll
get for your trouble!"