"No, no," she assured him. "You've been so good, Monte."
He was so good with her now—so gentle and considerate. It made her heart ache. With her chin in hand, elbow upon the arm of her chair, she was apparently looking at him more or less indifferently, when what she would have liked to do was to smooth away the perplexed frown between his brows.
"Then," he asked, "your coming here has n't anything to do with me?"
She could not answer that directly. With her cheeks burning and her lips dry, she tried to think just what to say. Above all things, she must not worry him!
"It has to do with you and myself and—Peter Noyes," she answered.
"Peter Noyes!"
He sat upright.
"He is at the Hôtel des Roses—with his sister," Marjory ran on hurriedly. "They are both old friends, and I met them quite by accident last night. Suddenly, Monte,—they made my position there impossible. They gave me a new point of view on myself—on you. I guess it was an American point of view. What had seemed right before did not seem right then."
"Is that why you resumed your maiden name?"
"That is why. But sooner or later Peter will know the truth, won't he?"