“No,” said Lola.
“Does he know that you intended to give me the pleasure of seeing you here with our mutual friend?”
“No,” said Lola.
Was that a lie or not? The girl had been crying, that was obvious. Something had evidently gone wrong with her scheme. But why this surreptitious meeting, this bringing in of Lytham? It was easy, of course, to appreciate his anxiety. He needed an impeccable Fallaray. He was working for his party, his political campaign, and in the long run, being an earnest patriot, for his country.—She had a few questions to put to him too.
“Where did you meet Lola de Brézé, Young Lochinvar?” she asked.
“At Chilton Park,” said Lytham, who had begun to be somewhat mystified at the way in which things were going; and, if the truth were told, impatient. All he had come to know was whether he had an ally in Lady Feo or an enemy, and make his plans accordingly. He could see no reason for her to dodge the issue. His game of tennis looked hopeless. What curious creatures women were.
“When?”
There was the sound of quick steps in the hall.
“Last night.”
The door opened and Fallaray walked in.