“I’ve been trying for days, ever since I came here. And you keep avoiding me, always having some one with you. Now we’ll be going to-morrow, we may not have another chance, and I must see you and tell you”—he stopped and looked at the gallery. “Did I hear a step up there?”
She had heard nothing and thought it odd that he should be so suddenly cautious. Discretion had been the last quality he had heretofore shown.
“I have avoided you and I’m going to continue doing it. Please move away from the door. It’s silly to stand in front of it for I can go round by the garden, but I’m tired and I don’t want to.”
He came forward, speaking as he advanced.
“This isn’t what you think. I’m done with that. You’ve made me understand, you’ve got it across, Sybil. I’m not going to bother you any more with that subject you loathe and think so dreadful. But I can’t help loving you and wanting to help you.” She gave an exasperated gesture and made a move to pass him. As she did so, he said: “I’ve heard something of Jim Dallas.”
She stopped as if all animating force had been stricken out of her, a “What?” expelled on a caught breath.
“Just before I left town I met an actor who says he saw him.”
“Are you telling me the truth?”
“Why should I lie? What do I gain by it? I swore the fellow to secrecy and came up here to tell you and I’ve been trying——”
She broke in: “Was he sure? Where was it?”