“I know,” he admitted.  “To tell you the truth, I came out here to think.  I could not quite make up my mind what to say to him.”

“It is strange that we should meet here,” she continued, “when Mr. Foley was talking to me about you for so long this morning.  He wished that he had laid more emphasis upon the fact that your coming to us at Lyndwood committed you to nothing.  No one is the worse off for hearing every point of view, is he?  My uncle will feel so much happier if he really has had the opportunity of having a long, uninterrupted talk with you.”

Maraton smiled pleasantly.  They were standing in a crowded part of the walk and almost unconsciously they commenced to move slowly along together.  Lady Elisabeth turned to her companion.

“You must let me introduce Mr. Maraton to you,” she said.  “This is Mr. Maraton—­Mrs. Bollington-Watts.”

The little woman leaned forward and looked at Maraton with undisguised curiosity.

“Forgive my starting at your name, won’t you, Mr. Maraton?” she began.  “It is uncommon, isn’t it, and I’m only just over from the States.  I dare say you read about all those awful doings in Chicago.”

Maraton, without direct reply, inclined his head.  Mrs. Bollington-Watts continued volubly.

“My brother is a judge out in Chicago.  It was he who signed the warrant for Maraton’s arrest.  I’m afraid our people are getting much too scared, nowadays, about that sort of thing.  We don’t seem to be able to enforce our laws like you do over here.  They are all saying now that it ought to have been served and the man shot if there had been any resistance.”

“In which case,” Maraton remarked, “I should not have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, Mrs. Bollington-Watts.”

She stared at him for a moment, speechless through sheer lack of comprehension.  Then she glanced at Lady Elisabeth and the truth dawned upon her.  It was more than she could grapple with at first, however.

“You?  But Lady Elisabeth—?  But you, Mr. Maraton—­are you really the man who mur—­who was associated with all that trouble in Chicago?”

“I am, without a doubt, the man,” Maraton assented cheerfully.  “I am an enemy of your class, Mrs. Bollington-Watts.  Your husband is the steel millionaire, isn’t he?  And I am also a Socialist of the most militant and modern type.  Nevertheless, I can assure you, for these few moments you are perfectly safe.”

Mrs. Bollington-Watts drew a little breath.  The remarkable adaptability of her race came to her rescue; her point of view swung round.

“Why,” she declared, “I have never been so interested in my life.  This is perfectly thrilling.  Mr. Maraton, I am having a few friends come in to-morrow evening.  I should dearly love to give them a surprise.  Couldn’t you just drop in for an hour?  Or, better still, if you could dine?  I have taken Lenchester House for a year.  My, it would be good to see their faces!”