Terry read, "Shall be delighted to have you lunch with me to-day Savoy Hotel one o'clock. Braithwaite." She examined the address and looked up startled, "But it's to you. It's—it's as though he knew we were together. What made him send it?"
When Tabs answered there was no echo of her excitement in his voice. "I wrote him yesterday asking him to call here. Evidently he preferred a more public place."
She glanced at him shrewdly. "Why did you write him? You must have done that between leaving me and coming to our house to dine. I know it's no good my asking you." Her last words were
more of a question than an assertion. "I can see that it's no good my asking you." "No, Terry, it's no good. Braithwaite's past is his own secret. But I can pledge you my word that it bears no stain."
"Then why shouldn't he——?" She changed her question. "Shall you meet him to-day at lunch?"
"Yes."
"Shall you tell him what we've——?"
"Not all of it, Terry."
"Why not all of it? Which part are you going to leave out?"
He came again to where she sat and stood gazing down on her. "Terry, why do you want me to tell him? Why can't you tell him yourself? It would be kinder."