“Call things by their right name,” interrupted Lambert, sharply.  “Agnes is now a widow, if that’s what you mean.”

“It is, if you call Agnes a thing.  Of course, you’ll marry her since the barrier has been removed?”

“Meaning Pine?  No!  I’m not certain on that point.  She is a rich widow and I’m a poor artist.  In honor bound I can’t allow her to lose her money by becoming my wife.”

Miss Greeby stared at the fire.  “I heard about that beastly will,” she said, frowning.  “Horribly unfair, I call it.  Still, I believed that you loved the moon—­well, then, Agnes, since you wish us to be plain—­and would carry her off if you had the pluck.”

“I have never been accused of not having pluck, Clara.  But there’s another thing to be considered, and that’s honor.”

“Oh, bosh!” cried Miss Greeby, with boyish vigor.  “You love her and she loves you, so why not marry?”

“I’m not worth paying two million for, Clara.”

“You are, if she loves you.”

“She does and would marry me to-morrow if I would let her.  The hesitation is on my part.”

“More fool you.  If I were in her position I’d soon overcome your scruples.”

“I think not,” said Lambert delicately.

“Oh, I think so,” she retorted.  “A woman always gets her own way.”

“And sometimes wrecks continents to get it.”

“I’d wreck this one, anyhow,” said Miss Greeby dryly.  “However, we’re pals, and if there’s anything I can do—­”

“Yes, there is,” said Lambert abruptly, and making up his mind to trust her, since she showed plainly that there was no chance of love on her part destroying friendship.  “I’m sick here and can’t move.  Let me engage you to act on my behalf.”

“As what, if you don’t mind my asking, Lambert?”

“As what you are for the moment, a detective.”

“Ho!” said Miss Greeby in a guttural manner.  “What’s that?”

“I want you to learn on my behalf, and as my deputy, who murdered Pine.”

“So that you can marry Agnes?”

“No.  The will has stopped my chances in that direction.  Her two million forms quite an insurmountable barrier between us now, as the fact of her being Pine’s wife did formerly.  Now you understand the situation, and that I am prevented by honor from making her my wife, don’t let us talk any more on that especial subject.”

“Right you are,” assented Miss Greeby affably.  “Only I’ll say this, that you are too scrupulous, and if I can help you to marry Agnes I shall do so.”

“Why?” demanded Lambert bluntly.

“Because I’m your pal and wish to see you happy.  You won’t be happy, like the Pears soap advertisement, until you get it.  Agnes is the ‘it.’”

“Well, then, leave the matter alone, Clara,” said Lambert, taking the privilege of an invalid and becoming peevish.  “As things stand, I can see no chance of marrying Agnes without violating my idea of honor.”