"Then you can't love me," she breathed ardently. "You said you'd stay—a long time."
"Three-quarters of an hour is every minute I can stay," John said.
"Oh, but it won't matter if you're just a tiny, tiny bit late—just once in a lifetime! You don't know how difficult it is for me, Billy. I have risked everything for you! I should be ruined utterly if it was discovered that I gave you this tête-à-tête here at this time of night.... You must stay, Billy, until I'm ready to let you go; it will make it easier for me."
"I don't see that," protested John. "You can slip away——"
"No, no; don't ask questions—don't say that! If you only knew how difficult it was. You won't bother me with questions, will you dear, dear Billy? And you'll be nice to me and let me get you something to drink. You bad boy," she said, after a moment's pause, "I don't believe you realise the honour I am conferring on you!"
"Oh I do—I am fully aware of it," answered John. She had risen from the arm of the chair, and had gone to the window. John heard the creak of the window blind as she drew it up upon the semi-darkness of the garden. For an instant he was startled, wondering if her movement portended some sort of signal.
As the blind ascended the complete darkness of the room sped away. He could now make out the rich shadows of her hair, and something of the outline of her fine features. Her hands in contrast with the black widow's weeds, looked unusually white.
"I thought you were fond of the darkness?" questioned John.
"I am, silly Billy." John guessed that she was wasting a coquettish smile upon the encumbering gloom.
She had gone to the sideboard, which was in shadow at the far end of the room and returning now to the middle table, placed upon it glasses, a soda syphon, and a whisky bottle.