She took up a screen and held it before her face. There seemed to be little need of it, however, for her cheeks were as pale as the white roses by her side.
“This man Johnny, as they call him,” Deyes continued, “seems to have had his ups and downs. One big stroke of luck he had, however, which seems to have kept him going for several years. The commissionaire was able to tell me something about it. Shall I go on?” he asked, dropping his voice a little.
“I should like to know what the commissionaire told you,” she answered.
“Somehow or other this fellow, Johnny or Johnson as some of them called him, was recommended to a young lady, a very young lady, who was in Paris with an invalid chaperon.”
“Stop!” she cried.
He looked at her fixedly.
“You were that young lady,” he said softly. “Of course, I know that!”
“I was,” she admitted. “Don’t speak to me for a few moments. It was years ago—but——”
She bent the screen which she held in her hand until the handle snapped.