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McGuire sagged against an edge of the desk, looking at her, studying her, wanting to make her talk, to feel at ease and talk—say something, anything, that would let him catch a glimmer of what she wanted.

"He doesn't like women, so you had better talk to me."

"Yes, I know. I know all about that. But there are some that he doesn't dislike."

"But always the ones that are pretty. He won't listen to you."

"How gallant!" Her hand touched the veil. He could tell that she was smiling. Without trusting him any more, though perhaps almost convinced that he did belong there, she saw that McGuire was not the sort of person of whom one needed to be afraid.

"But why this time of night? It must be important."

Her tone was quick, spirited. "It is—very."

"Ah!" said McGuire, as if he saw a bit of light. "We have been expecting important news. Hardly thought it would be brought by a woman, but——"

"Oh, but you have not expected the kind of news I bring!"

"How can you know that?"

"Because if you had expected it, you—or Captain Williams; I know nothing of you but what I saw"—she pointed to the drawer—"—would not have waited for me to come, or anyone else!"