"I suppose I may go to bed now," said Ermengarde, after a long pause. "I have nothing more to say. I went to see Susy because I was sorry for her, and I—I was afraid—that's all. If I were to stay here till morning I could not say anything more."
Whatever effect these words of Ermengarde might have had upon Basil—whether he would have believed her, and only attributed to her the sin of disobedience in seeking another interview with Susy—can never be known; for, as the little girl, interpreting his silence for consent, was about to leave the room, she stumbled against a footstool, and the precious miniature fell from its place of concealment to the floor.
Ermengarde uttered a cry, but before she could even stoop to pick up the picture, Basil had seized it; he gave it one look, his lips twitched curiously, then he slipped it into the inner pocket of his Eton jacket.
"Basil, Basil, oh give it to me! Basil, Basil, please give me that picture back!"
"No—it isn't yours—I know your secret. You can go to bed now. I don't want to say anything more to you to-night."
In her terror and anguish Ermengarde went on her knees.
"O Basil, be merciful! I'll tell you everything. I will, really and truly."
"Get up, Ermengarde. For goodness' sake, don't make an exhibition of yourself. I don't want to hear anything more you have got to say. Go to bed, and leave me in peace."
"Give me back the miniature."