He waited for her to go on, to elucidate the atmosphere of Paris, but she seemed lost in thought. Once he fancied her eyes wandered toward the door, as though she were expecting some one. There was some work he had planned to do that evening—work he really ought to do. Besides, an explanation was undoubtedly due him, and it was time she made it. In spite of himself, he stirred nervously.
“Sit still a moment longer,” she laughed, perceiving the movement.
“I beg your pardon.”
“Oh, I am not offended—I know how restless Americans are. And I know what is in your mind: you have some work to do. It is always so with an American. But I have not yet told you why I wished to see you. In the first place, I desired to thank you for a very great service—the greatest service a man can render a woman.”
Was she in earnest, Selden wondered? She certainly seemed so, and he tried to think what the greatest service was a man could render a woman. There were so many services—besides, it depended on the woman—and also on the man.
“If it is a riddle, I give it up,” he said. “How could I render you a service? I have never seen you before.”
“No—nor I you.”
“What was the service?”
“You rid me of a husband I hated.”
Selden leaned back in his corner and put the thought of work definitely behind him. He had not expected anything like this.