"All the same. Let it pass from your mind as though it had never been."
Blanche was dubious. If there was no harm, why should she not speak of it?—and she could not think there was harm. And if there was—why, she would not have breathed it to him for the world. Dismissing the subject, she and Mrs. Page Reid sat down to a quiet game at cards. When Lord Level came in, their visitor said good-night.
Blanche sat on in silence and torment. Should she speak, or should she not? Lord Level seemed buried in a reverie.
"Archibald," she presently began.
"Yes," he answered, rousing himself.
"I—we—I and Mrs. Page Reid went out for a little walk in the moonlight. And——"
"Well, my dear?"
"We saw you," Blanche was wishing to say; but somehow her courage failed her. Her breath was short, her throat was beating.
"And it was very pleasant," she went on. "As warm and light as day."
"Just so," said Lord Level. "But the night air is treacherous, apt to bring fever. Do not go out again in it, love."