She laughed heartily, and became as suddenly grave.
“So Mr. Cheveney was another Paris friend, was he?” she asked.
“Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. “If any one should know——you should! He was your friend. We were only—les autres.”
“That is quite untrue,” she declared cheerfully. “I certainly knew him no better than you.”
“Then he—and Paris—lied,” Ennison answered.
“That,” she answered, “is far easier to believe. You are too credulous.”
Ennison had things to say, but he looked at her and held his tongue. They turned the last corner, and almost immediately a man who had been standing there turned and struck Ennison a violent blow on the cheek. Ennison reeled, and almost fell. Recovering himself quickly his instinct of self-defence was quicker than his recollection of Anna’s presence. He struck out from the shoulder, and the man measured his length upon the pavement.
Anna sprang lightly away across the street. Brendon and Courtlaw who had been watching for her, met her at the door. She pointed across the road.
“Please go and see that—nothing happens,” she pleaded.
“It is the first moment we have let him out of our sight,” Brendon exclaimed, as he hastened across the street.