Bayre lost his head.
“My darling, my darling, don’t! If you knew what I feel for you, you’d never believe I could deceive you,” cried he, only conscious of her, and not even aware of the fact that poor Monsieur Blaise, brought thus inopportunely face to face with the girl he wished to jilt, had slipped away and was puffing and panting along towards the shore where the boat was waiting.
Miss Eden sobbed on.
“Don’t, don’t,” whispered Bayre, putting his hand upon the girl’s shoulder with diffident tenderness. “Listen. I don’t know anything; you know more than I do. I can only guess what it was that that miserable old panting rhinoceros”—he had by this time discovered the escape of his ponderous companion—“saw in your guardian’s room.”
And he related the events of their short visit, and told how obstinately Monsieur Blaise had refused to confess what it was that frightened him.
Miss Eden did not look up, but she presently spoke from under the handkerchief which she was pressing to her eyes. Bayre’s hand was still hovering near her shoulder; he was still bending over her in a coaxing attitude.
“Do you think he’s mad?” she asked.
“He gave no sign of insanity just now. It was old Blaise and I who behaved like lunatics, running away within a few seconds of being introduced into the room, and flying from the house as if we’d been thieves with the police at our heels!”
Miss Eden dried her eyes and looked up.
“Yes,” said she. “And I behaved more like a lunatic than he, too. For when I came back here two hours ago I went into the salle à manger and found him there, and it was I who stammered and spoke brokenly and in confusion. He watched me quietly, and asked me where I had learnt such erratic habits, and whether I expected a husband to put up with them when I married.”