"The butler. Didn't you hear----?"

Eyes wondering, she moved her head slowly from side to side. "Hear what?"

"I fancied that you had waited a moment on the veranda," he finessed.

"Oh, I was quite too frightened...."

He took this for a complete denial. Better and better! He had actually
feared that she had eaves-dropped, however warrantably; and Maitland's
authoritative way with the servants had been too convincingly natural to
have deceived a woman of her keen wits.

There followed a lull while Anisty was ordering the luncheon: something he
did elaborately and with success, telling himself humorously: "Hang the
expense! Maitland pays." Of which fact the weight in his pocket was
assurance.

Maitland.... Anisty's thoughts verged off upon an interesting tangent. What
was Maitland's motive in arranging this meeting? It was self-evident that
the twain were of one world--the girl and the man of fashion. But, whatever
her right of heritage, she had renounced it, declassing herself by yielding
to thievish instincts, voluntarily placing herself on the level of Anisty.
Where she must remain, for ever.

There was comfort in that reflection. He glanced up to find her eyes bent
in gravity upon him. She, too, it appeared, had fallen a prey to reverie.
Upon what subject? An absorbing one, doubtless, since it held her
abstracted despite her companion's direct, unequivocally admiring stare.