Tell me the truth, now, if ever."

"Why--gracious, Helene--of all the foolish questions!" He was
adorably boyish in his confusion. She laughed gleefully, like a
happy schoolgirl.

"Then, Monty Shirley, my score is better than yours, for I have
every mystery cleared. But while I know all about you, what
frightful chances you are taking with me!"

Shirley reddened, as he burned his finger with the match which
had been raised to the end of his cigarette. He accused her of
teasing, and she glanced happily at the iridiscent solitaire upon
the third finger of her left hand.

"Dear boy, I realize that I understand about you what you cannot
fathom with me. You are not a moth, but your self-sacrifice, and
bravery in this case are professional: you worked on this case as
you have on a hundred others: you are a very original and
successful expert in criminology. And I am not more than half
bad at observation and deduction, myself; now, am I, dear?"

Shirley gracefully admitted defeat, with a question: "Who are
you, Helene? And who is dear old Jack?"

The roses blossomed in her cheeks as she answered: "Jack is a
very sweet boy, ten years older than you in gray hair and the
calendar, and infinitely younger in worldly wisdom and intellect.
He is an English army officer, who was foolish enough to imagine
he loved me, foolish enough to propose every three days for