Her assurance was very pleasing to him. The faith that her words implied gave him an odd little feeling of comfort and happiness.
“I can easily get you out of this,” he added; “give me your address and when the gentleman comes—”
“That is impossible,” she replied hurriedly. “Please don't think I'm ungrateful, and don't think I'm being silly—you do think I'm being silly, don't you!”
“I have never harboured such an unworthy thought,” he said virtuously.
“Yes, you have,” she persisted, “but really I can't tell you where I am living. I have a very special reason for not doing so. It's not myself that I'm thinking about, but there's a life involved.”
This was a somewhat dramatic statement to make and she felt she had gone too far.
“Perhaps I don't mean that,” she said, “but there is some one I care for—” she dropped her voice.
“Oh,” said T. X. blankly.
He came down from his rosy heights into the shadow and darkness of a sunless valley.
“Some one you care for,” he repeated after a while.