"A lady," he cried in affected astonishment. "Ravenspur, here is a lady! Madame permit me to tender you our assistance. You are in pain."
A white, defiant face looked up—a beautiful face disfigured for the moment by evil passions. There was murder in the eyes. The woman seemed to have no consciousness of any one but Tchigorsky.
"It is you," she hissed. "Toujours Tchigorsky."
"Yes, it is I. But I have unfortunately forgotten your name. Strange that one should do so in the case of one so lovely and distinguished. You are——"
"Mrs. May. Mrs. Mona May."
She had caught sight of Geoffrey now and a smile came, forced to her lips.
"Mrs. Mona May," said Tchigorsky. He spoke in the same slightly mocking strain. "Mrs. Mona May. How stupid of me to forget. And yet in my muddled brain the name was so different."
Geoffrey bent over the woman anxiously.
"You are in pain," he said. "May I assist you?"
"Indeed, it is very kind of you, Mr. Ravenspur," Mrs. May replied. "I tripped over something. I have hurt my ankle."