"Thank you so much," she said, as she rose to go; then, in a burst of confidence, added, "Of course, after all, I don't care so much about it myself—but, you know, my aunt—is so dreadfully prim and proper that she couldn't forgive a thing like this. She'd never let Mr. Warrington call on me again."
Violet stopped and bit her lip. She had evidently not intended to say as much as that. But having once said it, she did not seem to wish to recall the words, either.
"There, now," she smiled, "don't you even hint to him that that was one of the reasons I called."
Garrick had risen and was standing beside her, looking down earnestly into her upturned face.
"I think I understand, Miss Winslow," he said in a low voice, rapidly. "I cannot tell you all—yet. But I can promise you that even if all were told—the truth, I mean—your faith in Warrington would be justified." He leaned over. "Trust me," he said simply.
As she placed her small hand in Garrick's, she looked up into his face, and with suppressed emotion, answered, "Thank you—I—I will."
Then, with a quick gathering of her skirts, she turned and almost fled from the room.
She had scarcely closed the door before Garrick was telephoning anxiously all over the city in order to get in touch with Warrington himself.
"I'm not going to tell him too much about her visit," he remarked, with a pleased smile at the outcome of the interview, though his face clouded as his eye fell again on the blackmailing letter, lying before him. "It might make him think too highly of himself. Besides, I want to see, too, whether he has told us the whole truth about the affair that night."
Somehow or other it seemed impossible to find Warrington in any of his usual haunts, either at his office or at his club.