He took his place by her side, deliberately removed his muffler and
unfastened his overcoat. It struck her, from the first moment she
heard his voice, that his manner was somehow altered. She was
altogether unprepared, however, for the almost stern directness of his
first question. "Miss Beverley," he began, "will you allow me to ask
you how long you have known Mr. Jocelyn Thew?"

She turned her head towards him and remained speechless for a moment.
It seemed to her that she was looking into the face of a stranger. The
little droop of the mouth had gone. The half-vacuous, half-bored
expression had given place to something altogether new. The lines of
his face had all tightened up, his eyes were hard and bright. She
found herself quite unable to answer him in the manner she
had intended.

"Are you asking me that question seriously, Mr. Crawshay?"

"I am," he assured her. "I have grave reasons for asking it."

"I am afraid that I do not understand you," she replied stiffly.

"You must change your attitude, if you please, Miss Beverley,"
Crawshay persisted. "Believe me, I am not trying to be impertinent. I
am asking a question the necessity for which I am in a position
to justify."

"You bewilder me!" she exclaimed.

"That is simply because you looked upon me as a different sort of
person. To tell you the truth, I should very much have preferred that