She snapped her fingers airily.
"I care just that for being followed. What of it?"
"My dear Inez, you forget that you're not in our native country. We can't fight duels galore in this part of the world, and cut the throats of inconvenient witnesses. People will talk; there are the newspapers; and—the dowagers; and the nonconformist conscience to be considered. You don't know what you are letting me—I mean yourself, in for."
"I tell you, I must confirm my suspicions. I must see your—what you call it—your visitors' book—which they have in great houses— I must compare the handwriting of the guests with the handwriting of these letters. When I have proved my case I will return to London—not one moment before. You are my friend, you will help me."
"Of course I will help you; but I assure you there is no one in the house who could be suspected for a moment."
"At least, you will help me to prove myself wrong?" and she shot at him one of those unsettling glances.
"Of course—with all my heart—and then you'll go back to London and take Mr. Sanks' advice, won't you?"
"You are very anxious to have me go," she said, piqued.
"No, no!" he assured her hastily. "Far from it; but can't you see—that it is for your sake that I urge it. Supposing anyone saw us now; what would they think, what could they think—an early morning rendezvous."
"They would say that you were making a report to me of your progress in discovering the plot against the treaty between England and our country."