"I must know this—please bear with me. I must have your answer!"
"It has been given you. I knew nothing."
She seemed dazed and not a little helpless now. Seating herself upon the edge of a chair near the fireplace, she began to speak her thoughts aloud.
"The secret is yours and mine. I would have told nobody. For you, it must be a hard thought to the end of your life. She was to have been married to-day. Will you tell me that if you had known it, it would have made a difference?"
He debated that, standing with his hands in his pockets, but his face grave enough.
"Nothing would have made any difference between that man and me. He shot my father. Very well—he had to pay, sooner or later. But I don't think it would have been to-day, if I had known."
She was silent a little while. Then she said:
"I can think of nothing but such simple things. If I had stopped to tell you in the hall of the hotel—just that—there would not have been to-day! It was one of those chances that do not recur. I thought everyone knew that Claudine was to be married."
"The last thing a man knows about any woman who is a mere acquaintance. Have you seen her to-day?"
She shivered.