"Good-by." The scene seemed the replica of a scene somewhere else, sometime before. Ah, in the garden, amid flowers, fragrance. There were no flowers here--
"Good-by." He spoke in a low voice. "As I told Captain Forsythe, you--you need not feel concern about the story ever coming out--"
"Concern? What do you mean?"
"Your telegram to Captain Forsythe, the fear that brought you to London--"
"The--you thought that?"--swiftly.
"What else?"
The indignation in her eyes met the surprise in his.
"Thank you," she said; "thank you for that estimate of me!"
"Miss Wray!" Contrition, doubt, amazement mingled in his tone.
"Good-by," she said coldly.