If she was willing to give up now—to relieve herself of further risk and become merely what she seemed, an ordinary girl worker, in France—why she could tell him. But if she was to go ahead into the greater hazards of which she dreamed, she must go of herself.
“I could tell you,” Ruth said, gazing up at Gerry, “that when I was on the street I happened to overhear a conversation which made me sure that he was a spy.”
“But it would not be the truth.”
“No; not quite.”
“I knew so.”
She looked down and he saw her suddenly shiver. He put a hand quickly upon her and then the other hand; he held her by her slender shoulders, her round arms quivering under his fingers. His pulses leaped with warm, thrusting waves which seemed to start in his hands holding her and to shake his whole body.
“What is it?” he asked.
She raised a hand and gently with her fingers, released one hand of his from her shoulder; he removed the other.
“What have we done with De Trevenac and the rest?”
“They’re in a safe place for further investigation; nothing else, yet.”