It was our second gun, and though the girl in the yashmak started again, she did not seize my arm. To hold the drama at its instant of suspense, I pretended to be more interested in the effect of the shot than in anything else in the world, as in other circumstances I should have been. I turned to this one and that one, inviting their guesses, noting all the while that over Regina Barry’s eyes there spread the surface fire that a flaming sunset casts on troubled water.
She harked back to the subject as soon as it was clear that we had missed our aim again.
“Lady Rideover promised me she’d never tell you.”
Her tone having become accusatory, I broke in on it with studied nonchalance.
“And she never did. To the best of my recollection she never mentioned your name to me. But is there anything wrong in my knowing that you and she are friends?”
Color mounted to her brows where the yashmak couldn’t conceal it, though she ignored the question.
“And I’m sure it wasn’t your sister Evelyn.”
“Why shouldn’t it have been?”
“Because she promised me, too. I should be frightfully hurt if I thought she—”
“Then I’ll relieve your mind by assuring you that she didn’t. But to me the curious thing is that you shouldn’t have wanted me to know.”