"Now, Little Max, you do not speak the truth. You did want me to come, else why do you come to the bridge? Why do you come?"
In view of all the facts in the case the question was practically unanswerable unless Max wished to tell the truth, so he evaded by saying:--
"I do not know."
She looked quickly up to his face and stepped back from him:--
"Did you come to see Twonette? I had not thought of her. She is but drained milk and treacle. Do you want to see her, Sir Max? If so, I'll return to the house and send her to you."
"Fräulein, I need not answer your question," returned Max, convincingly.
"But I love Twonette. I know you do not come to see her, and I should not have spoken as I did," said Yolanda, penitently.
Perhaps her penitential moods were the most bewitching--certainly they were the most dangerous--of all her many phases.
"You know why I come to the bridge, even though I do not," said Max. "Tell me, Fräulein, why I come."
"That is what you may tell me. I came to hear it," she answered softly, hanging her head.