“Indeed I shall do nothing of the kind; there’s no need. Your friend has behaved absurdly, and what he has done doesn’t make the least difference. How should we mind who sees us, since we have nothing to hide?”
“I wish you would not associate yourself with these Americans,” said Gerard irritably. “I know very well that you have nothing to hide, but I believe that the case is different with them. If you believe in them really, honestly believe in them and trust them to deal honorably, as you say you do, I want you to give me an understanding, a promise.”
“Well, what is it?”
“Will you promise—swear—that you will not tell the Van Santens what I have just told you?”
She at once said, in a low voice, but firmly and resolutely—
“I swear that I will not tell anyone here what you have just told me—about the presence of a detective.”
Gerard was surprised at this readiness to give her oath, and indeed his doubts made him shudder. Was she perjuring herself? He had had so many doubts of her before, that he ought not to have felt so strongly about this fresh one. But yet he shuddered again at the thought that she could be committing a crime, just as he had done before.
Anxious to avoid the thought that she had sworn with no intention of keeping her oath, he asked himself whether her telling them would be useless, and they perhaps knew already the news he had imparted to her. There was another short pause, and then Miss Davison said to him quickly, as she put her hand on the window, as if to go indoors—
“There’s one warning I ought to give you. As I have told you, it doesn’t matter a bit who is present, because there is nothing to find out, and the play to-day will be just as it has always been. But if you want to prevent an unpleasant scene, you had better keep the warning you have given me to yourself, and not tell Arthur Aldington.”
“Why not?”