'Theo,' she said with that abruptness which invariably follows after hesitation on the brink of a difficult subject, 'there was a man in this room ten minutes ago who announced his fixed determination of shooting you the very next time you crossed his path.'
The war-correspondent shrugged his shoulders, and turning sharply round, he kicked under the grate a small smoking cinder which had fallen far out into the fender.
'That man's statements, whether in regard to things past or things future, should be accepted with caution.'
'Then you met him on the stairs?'
'Yes; I met him on the stairs....'
'And...'
'And he did not shoot,' said Trist with a short laugh as he turned and faced Mrs. Wylie.
Then he did a somewhat remarkable thing—remarkable, that is, for a man who never gave way to a display of the slightest emotion, demonstrating either sorrow or joy, hatred or affection. He took Mrs. Wylie's two hands within his, and forced her to sit in the deep basket-work chair near the fire with its back towards the window.
Standing before her with his hands thrust into the pockets of his short serge jacket, he looked down at her with quizzical affection.
'Some months ago,' he said, 'we made a contract; you are breaking that contract, unless I am very much mistaken. You have allowed yourself to be anxious about me—is that not so?'