‘I am not,’ said Paul stanchly. ‘Nor do I think that you will be in a little time. I wasted three years, Mr. Janes, in worship at that empty shrine, and when I had most accidentally and most unwittingly surprised another worshipper——’
‘Don’t mock at it, for God’s sake!’ said young Mr. Janes. ‘I’m going home. Good-night. I think you were right to tell me. I think I should have done the same. You’re going——’ He paused there, and looked up with a white face. ‘You’re going to see her in the morning?’
‘On that one errand,’ Paul answered.
‘Well,’ said Mr. Janes, ‘good-bye, Armstrong.’
He offered his hand, and Paul took it warmly. Janes went dejectedly away.
At ten minutes before the strike of noon next day Paul and Gertrude met for the last time. She came gaily towards him with both hands outstretched in welcome, but her face changed as he stood before her with no recognition of her proffered salute.
‘What is the matter?’ she asked.
‘I am here to tell you, Gertrude,’ he responded. ‘I told you a part of my adventures of yesterday, but I did not tell you all. When my walk was finished I had luncheon, and after luncheon I lay down on a chair upon the veranda and fell asleep there. I awoke at the moment when Mr. Janes was telling you that it was dangerous. I had not the courage to break in upon a conversation so intimate, and—may I say it?—so familiar. I could not get away without a risk of being seen, and so I stayed where I was.’
She had gone white to the lips, and she was trembling, but she faced him.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I had thought you a little worthier than that! An eavesdropper!’