“I am always glad to see you, Violet,” he said, putting his arm around her waist and kissing her. “All the same, I am not sure that your coming here is altogether wise.”
“I waited as long as I could,” she answered. “You didn’t come to me. You scarcely even answered my letters. I couldn’t bear it any longer. I had to come and see you. Bertrand, you haven’t forgotten? Tell me that you haven’t forgotten.”
He sat down by her side. She was a young woman, and though her face was a little hardened by the constant use of cosmetics, she was still well enough looking.
“My dear Violet,” he said, “of course I have not forgotten. Only don’t you see how unwise it is of you to come down here? If she were to know——”
“She will not know,” the girl interrupted. “She is safe in London, and will be there for a week.”
“The servants here might tell her that you have been,” he suggested.
“You will have to see to it that they don’t,” she said. “Bertrand, I am so unhappy. When are you coming back?”
“Very soon,” he answered.
“We can spend the evening together, can’t we?” she asked, looking at him anxiously. “My train doesn’t go back until nine.”
“That is just what we cannot do,” he answered. “You did not tell me that you were coming, and I have to go out to dinner to-night.”