"You're quite positive of that?"
"Yes. I was—er—in Holland last summer."
"Oh, were you?"
"Yes. And Hermia—Miss Challoner was in Switzerland."
"Yes. So I hear. Very interesting. But how does that explain things to Pierre de Folligny? He met her the other day—and remembered her perfectly—"
Markham rose and paced the floor.
"Oh," he heard her saying, "she denied seeing him in France, of course,—but it was quite awkward—for her, I mean."
He took two or three turns, his brows serious, and then came and stood near her at the mantelpiece.
"You must straighten things out, Olga—with De Folligny," he muttered. "It will ruin her, if he speaks—you know what New York is. Gossip like that travels like fire. And she doesn't deserve it—not that. You've told me that you don't believe in her innocence, but at heart I think you do. You must. I swear to you—on the honor of—"
She raised a hand.