“Nothing except travelling all night,” he answered. “I am just back from Paris. I am bothered. I have come to you for sympathy, perhaps for help.”
“You may be sure of the one,” she murmured. “The other too if it is within my power.”
“It is within yours—if anybody’s,” he answered. “It is about your sister, Lady Ferringhall.”
Annabel gave a little gasp. The colour slowly left her cheeks, the lines of her mouth hardened. The change in her face was not a pleasant one.
“About my sister,” she repeated slowly.
Her tone should have warned him, but he was too much in earnest to regard it.
“Yes. You remember that you saw us at the Savoy a few evenings ago?”
“Yes.”
“And you knew, of course, that we were old friends?”
“Indeed!”