"Hush!" he said, in a very low voice. His hand fell upon hers as it rested on the arm of the chair. They were in the shadows. She looked up quickly and their eyes met. After a moment hers fell, and she gently withdrew her hand from its place of bondage. "We are pals, Bedelia," he went on softly. "Pals never go back on each other. They sink or swim together, and they never stop to inquire the reason why. When it comes to a pinch, one or the other will sacrifice himself that his pal may be saved. I—"
"Please do not say anything more," she said, her eyes strangely serious and her voice vibrant with emotion. "Please!"
"I have a confession to make to you," he began, leaning still closer. "You have taken me on faith. You do not know who or what I am. I—"
She held up her hand, an engaging frown in her eyes. "Stop! This is no place for confessions. I will not listen to you. Save your confessions for the magistrate. Tell him the truth, Mr. Schmidt. I am content to wait."
He stared for an instant, perplexed. "See here, Miss Guile,—Bedelia,—I've just got to tell you something that—"
"You may tell me at Interlaken," she interrupted, and she was now quite visibly agitated.
"At Interlaken? Then you mean to carry out your plan to spend—"
"Sh! Here they come. Now we shall see."
The magistrate and his companions re-entered the room at that instant, more noticeably excited than when they left it. The former, rubbing his hands together and smiling as he had never smiled before, approached the pair. It did not occur to him to resent the fact that they remained seated in his august presence.
"A lamentable mistake has been made," he said. "I regret that M'sieur and Mademoiselle have been subjected to so grave an indignity. Permit me to apologise for the misguided energy of our excellent sergents. They—"