"She told me that you came here; that Mr. Askew followed----"
"Forty-eight hours later. Quite correct."
"And that you intended to marry him at the British Embassy."
"Really! I never knew that Mrs. Penworthy was imaginative."
"It is not true!" His eye probed her.
She did not flinch. "You must be mad to think so."
"It is not true?" he persisted.
"You yourself have denied the truth of it twice. Mr. Askew at this moment dances round Miss Tallentire's skirts. Would I permit that, if----? Oh, ridiculous! You men swallow camels."
Her dupe rose to pace the room, and to pour out the anger of many brooding hours. "It is not true--ah, if I could only be sure of that. This woman--this Mrs. Penworthy--she swore--swore--that you--that you----" He choked, flung himself headlong to where she smiled contemptuous, and seized her hands vehemently. "Swear that it is false!" He dropped on his knees, almost tearful.
"I do swear," rejoined Leah, disengaging her wrists. "You can take Mr. Askew back to London if you like. He is engaged to marry a lady in South America. There is nothing between us--nothing. A flirtation, yes; banter and pretty smiles, idle nothings and surface conversations." She smoothed back his hair and smiled playfully. "Am I marrying Othello?"