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 the night of Cissie's confession. He would make a point of that, and was prepared to argue that, since he had said nothing, he meant nothing. In fact he was prepared to throw away the truth completely and enter the conversation as an out-and-out opportunist, alleging whatever appeared to fit the occasion, as all men talk to all women.

The old Captain was just getting into his chair as Peter entered. He paused in the midst of lowering himself by the chair-arms and got erect again. He began speaking a little uncertainly:

“Ah—by the way, Peter—I sent for you—”

“Yes, sir.” Peter looked out at the window.

The old gentleman scrutinized Peter a moment; then his faded eyes wandered about the library.

“Still working at the books, cross-indexing them—”

“Yes, sir.” Peter could divine by the crinkle of his nerves the very loci of the girl as she passed down the thoroughfare.

“Very good,” said the old lawyer, absently. He was obviously preoccupied with some other topic. “Very good,” he repeated with racking deliberation; “quite good. How did that globe get bent?”

Peter, looking at it, did not remember either knocking it over or setting it up.

“I don't know,” he said rapidly. “I hadn't noticed it.”

“Old Rose did it,” meditated the Captain aloud,