“Have I?” she answered. “I don’t think so. I used to dance all through the night in Paris and Rome, a few years ago. These young men are so clumsy, though—and I think that I am nervous.”
She lay back in her chair and half closed her eyes. A servant brought in the Evian water for which she had asked and a whisky and soda for Julian. She drank thirstily and seemed in a few moments to have overcome her fatigue. She turned to her companion with an air of determination.
“I must speak to you about that packet, Mr. Orden,” she insisted.
“Again?”
“I cannot help it. You forget that with me it is a matter of life or death. You must realise that you were only entrusted with it. You are a man of honour. Give it to me.”
“I cannot.”
“What are you thinking of doing with it, then?”
“I shall take it to London with me to-morrow,” he replied, “and hand it over to a friend of mine at the Foreign Office.”
“Would nothing that I could do or say,” she asked passionately, “influence your decision?”
“Everything that you do or say interests and affects me,” he answered simply, “but so far as regards this matter, my duty is clear. You have nothing to fear from my account of how it came into my possession. It would be impossible for me to denounce you for what I fear you are. On the other hand, I cannot allow you the fruits of your enterprise.”