"Monsieur Schmidt?"
"Yes. What's this? A letter! 'Pon my soul, how the deuce could any one—" He got no farther, for Miss Guile's action in pulling down her veil and the subsequent spasmodic glance over her shoulder betrayed such an agitated state of mind on her part that his own sensations were checked at the outset.
"There must be some one here who knows you, Mr. Schmidt," she said nervously. "See what it says, please,—at once. I—perhaps we should be starting home immediately."
Robin tore open the envelope. A glance showed him that the brief note was from Gourou. A characteristic G served as a signature. As he read, a hard line appeared between his eyes and his expression grew serious.
"It is really nothing, Miss Guile," he said and prepared to tear the sheet into many pieces. "A stupid, alleged joke of a fellow who happens to know me, that's all."
"Don't tear it up!" she cried sharply. "What does it say? I have a right to know, Mr. Schmidt, even though it is only a joke. What has this friend of yours to say about me? What coarse, uncalled-for comment has he to make about—"
"Let me think for a moment, Miss Guile," he interrupted, suddenly realising that it was time for reflection. After a moment he said soberly: "I think it would be wise if we were to leave instantly. There is nothing to be alarmed about, I assure you, but—well, we'd better go."
"Will you allow me to see that letter?" she asked, extending her hand.
"I'd rather not, if you don't mind."
"But I insist, sir! I'll not go a step from this place until I know what all this is about."