She had already begun to fight her own fight for him, and
the thing was so beautiful that he wanted to go round to her, and get
down on his knees, and put his head in her lap, and tell her the truth.
It was in the moment of that thought that the look came into his face
which brought the questioning little lines into her forehead again. In
that instant she caught a glimpse of the hunted man, of the soul that
had traded itself, of desire beaten into helplessness by a thing she
would never understand. It was gone swiftly, but she had caught it. And
for her the scar just under his hair stood for its meaning. The
responsive throb in her breast was electric. He felt it, saw it, sensed
it to the depth of his soul, and his faith in himself stood challenged.
She believed. And he--was a liar. Yet what a wonderful thing to lie for!
"--He called me up over the telephone, and when I told him to be quiet,
that you were still asleep, I think he must have sworn--it sounded like
it, but I couldn't hear distinctly--and then he fairly roared at me to
wake you up and tell you that you didn't half deserve such a lovely
little sister as I am. Wasn't that nice, Derry?"
"You--you're talking about McDowell?"
"To be sure I am talking about Mr.
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