“How do you mean, help you?” he asked as he raised his eyes, which had a new, conscious look.
“Advise me; you’ll know how. I’m in trouble—I’ve gone very far.”
“I’ve no doubt of that!” Paul laughed.
“I mean with some of those people abroad. I’m not frightened, but I’m worried. I want to know what to do.”
“No, you’re not frightened,” Muniment returned after a moment.
“I’m, however, in a sad entanglement. I think you can straighten it out. I’ll give you the facts, but not now, for we shall be interrupted—I hear my old lady on the stairs. For this you must come back to me.”
As she spoke the door opened, and Madame Grandoni appeared cautiously, creeping, as if she didn’t know what might be going on in the parlour. “Yes, I’ll come back,” said Paul quietly but clearly enough; with which he walked away, passing Madame Grandoni on the threshold and overlooking the hand-shake of farewell. In the hall he paused an instant, feeling his hostess behind him; whereby he learned that she had not come to exact from him this omitted observance, but to say once more, dropping her voice so that her companion, through the open door, might not catch: “I could get money—I could!”
He passed his hand through his hair and, as if he had not heard, observed: “I’ve not after all given you half Rosy’s messages.”
“Oh that doesn’t matter!” she answered as she turned back into the parlour.
Madame Grandoni was in the middle of the room, wrapped in her old shawl, looking vaguely round her, and the two ladies heard the house-door close. “And pray who may that be? Isn’t it a new face?” the elder one inquired.