“You were going out, I think,” said Guerchard gently.
“I was asking leave to go out. There is some shopping that must be done,” said Sonia.
“You do not see any reason why Mademoiselle Kritchnoff should not go out, M. Formery, do you?” said Guerchard.
“Oh, no, none whatever; of course she can go out,” said M. Formery.
Sonia turned round to go.
“One moment,” said Guerchard, coming forward. “You’ve only got that wrist-bag with you?”
“Yes,” said Sonia. “I have my money and my handkerchief in it.” And she held it out to him.
Guerchard’s keen eyes darted into it; and he muttered, “No point in looking in that. I don’t suppose any one would have had the audacity—” and he stopped.
Sonia made a couple of steps toward the door, turned, hesitated, came back to the couch, and picked up her cloak.
There was a sudden gleam in Guerchard’s eyes—a gleam of understanding, expectation, and triumph. He stepped forward, and holding out his hands, said: “Allow me.”