"He will telephone," she answered. "He has promised."
I reached over towards her and took her hands into mine.
"Felicia," I said boldly, "I am your friend. The letter I have told you of should prove that. I am only anxious for your good. Tell me what reason your uncle can have for behaving in this extraordinary way, for allowing himself to be associated even for a moment with such people as Louis and his friends?"
Everything that it had made me so happy to see in her face died away. She was once more wan and anxious.
"I cannot tell you," she said,—"I cannot, because I dare not! I have promised! Only remember this. My uncle has lived in Paris for so many years—"
"But I thought that he had just come from South America!" I interrupted.
"Yes, but before that," she explained breathlessly,—"before that! He loves the mysterious. He likes to be associated with strange people, and I do believe, too," she continued, "that he has business just now which must be kept secret for the sake of other people. Oh, I know it must all seem so strange to you! Won't you believe, Capitaine Rotherby, that I am grateful for your kindness, and that I would tell you if I could?"
"I must," I answered, with a sigh. "I must believe what you tell me. Listen, then. I shall wait until you hear from your uncle."
"Have you come back to your rooms?" she asked timidly.
"I shall do so," I announced, "but I hope that it will be only for the night. To-morrow, if all goes well, we may be on our way to Norfolk."