"Ever since I knew you," he said slowly, "there have been odd moments when I have lived in torture. During the last fortnight, those moments have become hours. Last night the end came."
"Are you mad, John?" she demanded.
"Perhaps," he replied. "Listen. When I left you last night, I went to the club in Adelphi Terrace. There was a well-known critic there, comparing you and Latrobe. On the whole he favored you, but he gave Latrobe the first place in certain parts. Latrobe, he said, had had more experience of life. She had had a dozen lovers—you, only one!"
She winced. The glad freshness seemed suddenly to fade from her face. Her eyes became strained.
"Well?"
"I found Graillot. I cornered him. I asked him for the truth about you. He put me off with an evasion. I came down here and looked at your window. It was three o'clock in the morning. I dared not come in. A very demon of unrest was in my blood. I stopped at a night-club on my way back. Sophy was there. I asked her plainly to put me out of my agony. She was like Graillot. She fenced with me. And then—the prince came!"
"The prince was there?" she faltered.
"He came up to the table where Sophy and I were sitting. I think I was half mad. I poured him a glass of wine and asked him to drink with me. I told him that you had promised to become my wife. He raised his glass—I can see him now. He told me, with a smile, that it was the anniversary of the day on which you had promised to become his mistress!"
Louise shrank back.
"He told you that?"