“Enchantment?”
“Well, I can’t find a better word just now. I can’t warn him; so I will leave in the morning.”
“I really think it would be better,” she said, looking up at him frankly. “Of all the American men I have met I value your friendship most; yes, it is quite true!” as he 290 uttered a slight exclamation. “But there are times when even our good angels hamper us, and just now I am better, much better, alone.”
“If I could help you––”
“You could not,” she said hastily. “Even without the barrier of the parole, you could not. But I cannot talk. I am nervous, not myself today. You saw how clumsy I was when I brought the letter to show?––and after all did not get to show it. Well, I have been like that all day. I have grown fearful of everything––distrustful of every glance. Did you observe the watchfulness of Miss Loring on the lawn? Still, what does it matter?”
She leaned her head on her hands for a few moments. He stood and looked at her somberly, not speaking. When she turned towards him again it was to ask in a very different tone if he would touch the bell––it was time for Pluto to start with the mail. When he entered she found that a necessary address book had been left in her own apartments.
“You get the mail bag while I go for it, Pluto,” she said after tossing the papers about in a vain search; “and Captain Monroe, will you look over this bit of figures for me? It is an expense list for my yacht, I may need it today and have a wretched head for business details of that sort. I am helpless in them.”
Then she was gone, and Monroe, with a pencil, noted the amount, corrected a trifling mistake, and suddenly became conscious that the grave, most attentive, black man, was regarding him in a manner inviting question.
“Well, my man, what is it?” he asked, folding up the paper, and speaking with so kindly a smile that Pluto stumbled eagerly into the heart of questions long deferred.