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Miss Golightly rose to the occasion and dismissed him. “I understand,” she exclaimed amiably. “Every minute is precious.”

Nevertheless, it was not until two days later that he succeeded in finding Mary Wellington at home. He called that evening, but was told by the person in charge that she had taken a brief respite from work and would not return for another twenty-four hours. On the second occasion, as the first, he brought with him under his arm a good-sized package, neatly done up.

“I am back again,” he said, and he pressed her hand with unmistakable zeal.

Her greeting was friendly; not emotional like his, or unreserved; but he flattered himself that she seemed very glad to see him. He reflected: “I don’t believe that it did my cause a particle of harm to let her go without the constant visits she had grown accustomed to expect.”

He said aloud: “I came across this on the other side and took the liberty of bringing it to you.”

Mary undid the parcel, disclosing a beautiful bit of jade; not too costly a gift for a friend to accept, yet really a defiance of the convention which forbids marriageable maidens to receive from their male admirers presents less perishable than flowers or sweetmeats.

“It is lovely, and it was very kind of you to remember me.”

“Remember you? You were in my thoughts day and night.”

She smiled to dispel the tension. “I shall enjoy hearing about your travels. A friend of yours has told me something of them.”

“Ah! Miss Golightly. You have seen her, then, at your cousin’s? A companionable woman; and she knows her Europe. Yes, we compared notes regarding our travels.”

He colored slightly, but only at the remembrance of having confided to this comparative stranger his bosom’s secret under the spell of an ocean intimacy.

“You brought home other things, I dare say?” Mary asked after a pause, glancing up at him.

“Oh, yes!” The trend of the question was not clear to him, but he was impelled to add: “For one thing, I ordered clothes enough to last me three years at least. I bought gloves galore for myself and for my sister. As I belong to the working class, and there is no knowing how soon I may be able to get away again, I laid in a stock of everything which I needed, or which took my fancy. Men’s things as well as women’s are so much cheaper over there if one knows where to go.”

“With the duties?”

The words, gently spoken, were like a bolt from the blue. George betrayed his distaste for the inquiry only by a sudden gravity. “Yes, with the duties.” He hastened to add: “But enough of myself and my travels. They were merely to pass the time.” He bent forward from his chair and interrogated her meaningly with his glance.

“But I am interested in duties.”

He frowned at her insistence.

“Miss Golightly,” continued Mary, “explained to us yesterday how she got all her things through the custom-house by giving the inspector twenty-five dollars. She gloried in it and in the fact that, though her trunks were full of new dresses, she made oath that she had nothing dutiable.”

He suspected now her trend, yet he was not certain that he was included in its scope. But he felt her eyes resting on him searchingly.

“Did she?” he exclaimed, with an effort at airy lightness which seemed to afford the only hope of escape.

“How did you manage?”

“I?” He spoke after a moment’s pause with the calm of one who slightly resents an invasion of his privacy.

“Did you pay the duties on your things?”

George realized now that he was face to face with a question which, as lawyers say, required that the answer should be either “yes” or “no.” Still, he made one more attempt to avert the crucial inquiry.

“Does this really interest you?”

“Immensely. My whole future may be influenced by it.”

“I see.” There was no room left for doubt as to her meaning. Nor did he choose to lie. “No, I paid no duties.”