And she—knowing very well that the search was necessary, and aware that while there was nothing incriminating upon her yet from that moment, until the ship that carried her passed out to sea, she would be under close espionage—answered, pleasantly as though accepting a courtesy tendered, and with a winning smile:
“I had arranged to sail tomorrow, Mr. Harleston so it will be just as intended. Meanwhile, I’m at the service of your female assistant. She will find nothing, I assure you.”
“Give me the pleasure of conducting you to her,” Harleston replied, and swung open the door.
“If Mrs. Clephane will trust you with me,” she inflected, flouting the other with a meaning look; which look flitted across the room to the Secretary and changed to one of interrogation as it met his eyes—calm eyes and steady, and with never a trace of the interest that she knew was behind them, yet dared not show—yet awhile.
And Mrs. Clephane answered her look by a shrug; and Harleston answered that to the Secretary by a soft chuckle. As the door closed behind them, he remarked:
“At a more propitious time.”
To which she responded:
“Which time may never come.” Then she held out her hand. “Good-bye, Guy,” she smiled.
“Good-bye, Madeline,” said he; “and good luck another time—with other opponents.”
“And we’ll call this—”