"I don't think so," she pursued. "What precautions do you purpose to take?"
He looked at her helplessly. "If I say anything to Fosdick," said he, "he will be justified in getting furiously angry. He might think he had the right to act as you accuse him of plotting."
"But you must do something."
He shook his head. "I have trusted Fosdick," said he. "I still think it was wise. But, however that may be, the wise course now certainly is to continue to trust him."
"Trust him!" exclaimed Narcisse bitterly. "I might trust a thief who wasn't a hypocrite—he might not squeal on a pal to save himself. But not a Fosdick. A respectable thief has neither the honor of honest men nor the honor of thieves."
"Prejudice! Always prejudice, Narcisse."
"You will do nothing?"
"Nothing." And he tried to look calm and firm.
She went into her dressing room with the air of one bent on decisive action. He could but wait. When she came back she was dressed for the street.
"Where are you going?" he demanded in alarm.