‘If you do not love her, and she does not love you, and is not even your friend,’ says she sneeringly, ‘what is she to you?’
‘My tenant—neither more nor less.’
‘You mean to tell me, on your honour, that she pays you rent?’
‘Certainly she does.’
‘She is a bonâ-fide tenant, nothing more? Then, if so, why all this mystery? Why did you give me to understand weeks ago that she was a man?’
‘You understood that for yourself. And with regard to the mystery, it seems that she is desirous of privacy.’
‘How very modest, and what an extraordinary tenant to pick up! May I ask where you first heard of her? By advertisement?’
‘No.’
‘How, then?’
For a moment Wyndham hesitates. Hesitation is supposed to lead to ruin, but Wyndham comes out of it sound in wind and limb. His mind had suffered a shock as it fell back upon that tragic scene in the Professor’s room, but recovered from it almost immediately.