“The only thing to do, then, is for us to stop where we are, together,” said Lisa, “for stop I must and shall, in justice to myself, to Ivor Dundas and to you. You couldn’t force me away, even if you wanted to use force.”
“Which you know is out of the question,” I said, desperately. “But why has your conscience begun to reproach you for trying to put me against Ivor? You seemed to have no scruples whatever, last night and this morning.”
“I’ve been thinking hard since then. I want my warning to you either to be justified, or else I want to apologise humbly. For if Ivor doesn’t come to this house to-night, in spite of his embarrassment when he spoke about an engagement, I shall believe that he doesn’t care a rap about Maxine de Renzie.”
I said no more, but leaned back against the cushions, my heart beating as if it were in my throat, and my brain throbbing in time with it. I could not think, or argue with myself what was really right and wise to do. I could only give myself up, and drift with circumstances.
“A man has just come round the far corner,” whispered Lisa. “Is it Ivor? I can’t make out. He doesn’t look our way.”
“Thank Heaven we’re too far off for him to see our faces! I would rather die than have Ivor know we’re here,” I broke out.
“I don’t think it is Ivor,” Lisa went on. “He’s hidden himself in the shadow, as if he were watching. It’s that house he’s interested in. Who can he be, if not Ivor? A detective, perhaps.”
“Why should a detective watch Mademoiselle de Renzie’s house?” I asked, in spite of myself.
Lisa seemed a little confused, as if she had said something she regretted.
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” she answered hastily. “Why, indeed? It was just a thought. The man seems so anxious not to be seen. Oh—keep back, Di, don’t look out for an instant, till he’s passed. Ivor is coming now. He’s walking in a great hurry. There! he can’t see you. He’s far enough away for you to peep, and see for yourself. He’s at Maxine de Renzie’s gate.”