“I should like to understand you,” he said. “I knew Miss Pellissier in Paris at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ and I know her now, but I am convinced that there is some mystery in connexion with her change of life. She is curiously altered in many ways. Is there any truth, do you suppose, in this rumoured marriage?”
“I know nothing,” Courtlaw answered hurriedly. “Ask me nothing. I will not talk to you about Miss Pellissier or her affairs.”
“You are not yourself to-night, Courtlaw,” Ennison said. “Come to my rooms and have a drink.”
Courtlaw refused brusquely, almost rudely.
“I am off to-night,” he said. “I am going to America. I have work there. I ought to have gone long ago. Will you answer me a question first?”
“If I can,” Ennison said.
“What were you doing outside Miss Pellissier’s flat to-night? You were looking at her windows. Why? What is she to you?”
“I was there by accident,” Ennison answered. “Miss Pellissier is nothing to me except a young lady for whom I have the most profound and respectful admiration.”
Courtlaw laid his hand upon Ennison’s shoulder. They were at the corner of Pall Mall now, and had come to a standstill.
“Take my advice,” he said hoarsely. “Call it warning, if you like. Admire her as much as you choose—at a distance. No more. Look at me. You knew me in Paris. David Courtlaw. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. I’ve loved her for two years, I love her now. And I’m off to America, and if my steamer goes to the bottom of the Atlantic I’ll thank the Lord for it.”