“Is she here?” I repeated.
“She wished me to see you. We arranged that she should go and that I should give you her messages. You will come into my house?”
“No, I cannot wait. She is gone to Samac. I shall ride after her. I must see her.”
“You are suffering,” he said, with that soothing comfort-offering air which is the priceless possession of many women and some good men. “You will let me give you her messages?”
“I cannot wait,” I said again; and yet I lingered.
“Will it ease your own pain to make her suffer?” The question made me wince; and I shirked the answer to it.
“She has gone to Samac?”
“Yes, she has driven to Samac. There is plenty of time for you to listen to me and then to overtake her before she can leave there.”
“She was to come to me,” I said, with a glance of doubt at this. It might be another ruse. He saw the doubt instantly.
“You may believe me. I do not wish to detain you if you prefer to go, and should not stoop to a trick.” He stepped back and waved his hand as if to signify I was free to go, and added: “It is only for her sake.”