"To my wife," said Harry.
Mr. Benoliel stared at Harry Rames.
"You and Cynthia are married?"
"Yes."
"When are you going to make your marriage public?"
"On the day the Whitsunday holidays begin. We shall have it announced in the evening papers. We shall already have left for Fontainebleau."
So after all Mr. Benoliel had spoken in vain. He might have spared his breath, and retained in a fuller degree Cynthia's liking and respect. He knew now what she had turned back from the stairs to tell him.
"Give her this message," he said. "Tell her to forget what I said to her;" and he moved away.
But the message was of no use. He had said what he had to say, and Cynthia could not forget. She watched. She was afraid; as since her seventeenth birthday she had always been afraid.