"In a way, yes--for my promised husband, since he would not like any one to know of my adventure. For myself, I am not afraid, as I have done nothing wrong."
"You are stronger than Ferdy," said the dancer, suddenly.
"I should hope so," replied Clarice, contemptuously; "Ferdy is a reed--a piece of putty. I wonder that a clever woman, such as you are, wants to marry so weak a man."
"It is because he is weak that I wish him to become my husband," said Zara, quickly. "I wish to marry, so as to have a protector in my public life, as I am sick of all these fops who come round me. But I do not wish to wed a fireside tyrant, and so--" she stretched out her arms in a French fashion and with a careless shrug. "I will hold my tongue," she went on, "not even my mother will ever know that you are really Clarice Baird. As to Osip--what will you do?"
"I shall say nothing at present," replied Clarice, after a moment's thought, "but you must be aware that it will not do to allow such a man to live. He will only commit more murders."
"I suppose so. What a devil the man is. Yet, you know, as Brown he really was rather nice. Ugh!" Zara shivered again. "I am not a silly fainting woman, but it turns me cold to think how often I have been in his company. He might have killed me."
Clarice took a cigarette out of the silver box and lighted up. "I must be going now," she said, quietly, "and so I have to keep up my pretence of being a man. But one last word. We understand one another."
"Yes," said Zara, promptly. "I keep silent about Clarke, and you about Osip. Of course, also, I marry Ferdy."
"No," said Clarice, determinedly. "I won't leave this house until I have your promise to give up Ferdy."
"To Prudence Clarke?" sneered the dancer. "She won't have him."