"Remember," she whispered, "I am standing where I can turn on the
light in a moment. If any one comes, you are here to see my South
American curios. This is my own sitting-room. You understand?"

"I understand," he assented. "Whatever you tell me to say, I will
say."

She seemed to be gathering courage. She laughed very softly, as
though amused at his earnestness. There was little enough of mirth
in her laughter, yet somehow it gave him heart.

"What do these men want?" he asked. "Would you like me to go out and
send them away?"

"No," she replied. "I do not wish you to leave me."

"But they are terrifying you," he protested. "What right have they
in your garden? They are here, perhaps, as thieves."

"Hush!"

She sprang away from him. The room was suddenly flooded with light.
She was leaning with her arm upon the mantelpiece, a statuette of
black ivory in her hand.

"If you are really fond of this sort of thing," she began, "you
should come with me to the South Kensington Museum one day--Who is
that?"