“Because what matters is whether Eliot himself trusts me—not whether he has everything explained to him,” said Ann. “He must trust me because I’m trustworthy—not because you guarantee me.”
“My dear—that’s the ideal attitude. But”—Lady Susan sighed and smiled in the same breath—“we’ve got to make allowances for poor human nature. We’re all so very far from being ideal in this sinful old world. Be sensible, Ann darling,” she coaxed, “and let me assure Eliot you were up at the Hotel de Loup alone.”
Ann shook her head.
“You can’t, dear Lady Susan. Because—I wasn’t alone. Tony and I were there together.”
Lady Susan turned on her a face of blank astonishment.
“You weren’t alone?” she exclaimed. “But—I don’t understand. Philip told me that Tony ran over to Geneva that day and stayed the night there!”
“Did he?” Ann’s heart grew very soft at the thought of Tony’s boyishly crude effort to protect her from the possible consequence of their night’s sojourn at the hotel. “I’m afraid Tony let him think that on my account—in order to shield me.... I should have told you all about it at the time,” she went on, “only—don’t you remember—you had sprained your ankle, and you were in so much, pain that I just didn’t want to bother you with the matter.”
Lady Susan looked distressed.
“But, my dear, what possessed you to stay the night up there—with Tony? You must have known people would talk if it ever became known.”
“Well, it was just a sheer bit of bad luck,” explained Ann, and forthwith proceeded to recount the whole adventure which had befallen her and Tony at the Dents de Loup. “We had to stay there,” she wound up. “We’d absolutely no choice. But we met no one. Not a soul. And I can’t conceive how the story has got out.”