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Afterwards, when he knew her well, McGuire said, "A child then, with no harm in you. And you'd come back to him a woman, something he dreads, hates, is afraid of. The ten years between were half your life. To him they were hardly more than the wakeful passing of a night. An' he didn't know what you wanted—just to have somebody killed, or another kiss."

At last, making quite as much statement as question of it, Williams said: "You are in trouble?"

Nada's lips burst into a smile, and a little gloved hand darted out at him, as quickly she said: "No; you are!"

He was stiff as an iron man, and watchful; far from sure of her, though she was from among his friends.

"How!" he asked, without interest.

A moment before her lips had flashed into a smile and her eyes had sparkled; this instant her face was slightly shadowed, and a glow of sadness appeared far in the depths of the dark eyes, as if there was something unpleasant in why she had come. Her glance turned inquiringly toward McGuire, then again to Williams. No one spoke or gestured, but she knew then that McGuire, too, was expected to hear whatever she had come to tell. He had edged back upon a corner of the desk, and waited with an appearance of idling.