“I only wish I could,” he replied. “Try me.”
“Can't you see,” she went on, “that the great thing against me is that Beatrice left me suddenly when we were on that wretched expedition, and came back alone? She is in London, I know, quite close to me, and still she hides. Pritchard asks himself why. Mr. Tavernake, go and tell her what people are saying, go and tell her everything that has happened, let her understand that her keeping away is doing me a terrible injury, beg her to come and let people see that we are reconciled, and warn her, too, against Pritchard. Will you do this for me?”
“Of course I will,” Tavernake answered. “I will see her to-morrow.”
Elizabeth drew a little sigh of relief.
“And you'll let me know what she says?” she asked, rising.
“I shall be only too glad to,” Tavernake assured her.
“Good-night!”
She looked up into his face with a smile which had turned the heads of hardened stagers in New York. No wonder that Tavernake felt his heart beat against his ribs! He took her hands and held them for a moment. Then he turned abruptly away.
“Good-night!” he said.
He disappeared through the swing doors. She strolled across the room to where her friends were sitting in a circle, laughing and talking. Her father, who had just come in and joined them, gripped her by the arm as she sat down.