“You know what I mean.”
“But I don’t post letters except in the way that is what is called legitimate.”
“Riki, where is the good of prevaricating?”
“I know not what you call pre-vare-cating. I never heard the word.”
“Listen to me,” I said. “You had no right to ask me to post the letters for you.”
“What would poor, poor Heinrich do if you had not?” she said. “What do we not owe you, you kind English girl, with the so kind, good face? You have our great gratitude.”
“I don’t want your gratitude,” I said. “You did wrong to ask me. I would not do wrong for all the world—I mean wrong like this—quite wrong; and it was wrong of you to tempt me. I did not know; I was unaware of the rule; but even so, I was silly, and you will quite understand that I will not do it any more.”
She took my hand and stroked it very gently. After a silence of two or three minutes, during which I hoped to get a full explanation from her, she raised her eyes and said very gently:
“What about the great prizes on the great day of the break-up, and the beautiful Easter lilies that we are each presented with before the Easter services? Think you not that will be a very beautiful occasion for us all?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “I may not be here for Easter.”