“He was just an acquaintance,” she answered, “a man whom I used to know in New York, passing through London. He called on me and asked me to go to the theatre and supper. Why not? I have had a terrible time during the last few months, Mr. Tavernake, and I am very lonely—lonelier than ever since my sister deserted me.”
Tavernake began to feel, ridiculous though it seemed, that in some subtle and inexplicable fashion he was in danger. At any rate, he was hopelessly bewildered. He did not understand why this very beautiful lady should look at him as though they were old friends, why her eyes should appeal to him so often for sympathy, why her fingers, which a moment ago were resting lightly upon his hand, and which she had drawn away with reluctance, should have burned him like pin-pricks of fire. The woman who wishes to allure may be as subtle as possible in her methods, but a sense of her purpose, however vague it may be, is generally communicated to her would be victim. Tavernake was becoming distinctly uneasy. He had no vanity. He knew from the first that this beautiful creature belonged to a world far removed from any of which he had any knowledge. The only solution of the situation which presented itself to him was that she might be thinking of borrowing money from him!
“There was never a time in my life,” she continued softly, “when I felt that I needed a friend more. I am afraid that my sister has prejudiced you against me, Mr. Tavernake. Beatrice is very young, and the young are not always sympathetic, you know. They do not make allowances, they do not understand.”
“Why did you tell Mr. Dowling things which were not true?” he asked bluntly.
She sighed, and looked down at the handkerchief with which she had been toying.
“It was a very silly piece of conceit,” she admitted, “but, you see, I had to tell him something.”
“Why did you come to the office at all?” he continued.
“Do you really want to know that?” she whispered softly.
“Well,—”
“I will tell you,” she went on suddenly. “It sounds foolish, in a way, and yet it wasn't really, because, you see,”—she smiled at him—“I was anxious about Beatrice. I saw you come out of the office that morning, and I recognized you at once. I knew that it was you who had been with Beatrice. I made an excuse about the house to come and see whether I could find you out.”