“I told the truth just now, though not all of it,” I said, in a rapid undertone.

“I knew you were keeping something back,” she declared merrily. “And now you have taken your punishment, sir, you may give your full explanation.”

“I can’t here; I must see you alone. It is something very serious,—something that concerns you nearly.”

“Me! But what about your mysterious old man?”

“It concerns him, too—both of you—”

Even as I spoke, once more the incredibility of any connection between this glorious creature and that poor, starved, half-demented wreck of humanity, struck me afresh.

“But I can’t tell you now, as I said, and—hush—don’t let him hear; and beware of him, I implore you. No, it’s not mere jealousy,—though I can’t explain, here.” I had indicated Cassavetti with a scarcely perceptible gesture, for I knew that, though he was still talking to the pretty woman in black, he was furtively watching us.

[Pg 14]

[Pg 14]

A curious expression crossed Anne’s mobile face as she glanced across at him, from under her long lashes.

But her next words, spoken aloud, had no reference to my warning.

“Is it true that you are leaving town at once?”

“Yes. I may come to see you to-morrow?”

“Come as early as you like—in reason.”

That was all, for Cassavetti rejoined us, dragging up a chair in place of the one I had appropriated.

“So you and Mr. Wynn are neighbors,” she said gaily. “Though he never told me so.”

“Doubtless he considered me too insignificant,” replied Cassavetti, suavely enough, though I felt, rather than saw, that he eyed me malignantly.

“Oh, you are not in the least insignificant, though you are exasperatingly—how shall I put it?—opinionated,” she retorted, and turned to me. “Mr. Cassavetti has accused me of being a Russian.”

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