"Now. I've something else to ask you."
"No! I think you are too bad. I am very tired. Let me go to bed, Mr.
Gibbon."
"Answer me first. How about the other one?"
"The other one! I don't know what you mean."
"Sir Francis—that gave you the fifty pound. How about him?"
Deleah's eyes, staring into his, dilated, her face grew whiter than his own. "I don't know what you can mean," she said. "Sir Francis Forcus and me? Me! Me! Deleah Day!" She whispered the words in a kind of awe. Almost there seemed sacrilege in them.
"Why not? Why not?"
"I think you must be mad, Mr. Gibbon."
"I am. I often am. Quite mad. Mad with love of you."
"Oh!"