Elizabeth turned her face to him, and a pair of startled eyes that tried not to waver.
"Of course, Mr. Arthur," she said smiling. "Have I been doing anything dreadful?"
"May I ask what you personally know of this Mr. Anderson?"
He saw--or thought he saw--her brace herself under the sudden surprise of the name, and her momentary discomfiture pleased him.
"What I know of Mr. Anderson?" she repeated wondering. "Why, no more than we all know. What do you mean, Mr. Arthur? Ah, yes, I remember, you first met him in Winnipeg; we made acquaintance with him the day before."
"For the first time? But you are now seeing a great deal of him. Are you quite sure--forgive me if I seem impertinent--that he is--quite the person to be admitted to your daily companionship?"
He spoke slowly and harshly. The effort required before a naturally amiable and nervous man could bring himself to put such an uncomfortable question made it appear particularly offensive.
"Our daily companionship?" repeated Elizabeth in bewilderment. "What can you mean, Mr. Arthur? What is wrong with Mr. Anderson? You saw that everybody at Winnipeg seemed to know him and respect him; people like the Chief Justice, and the Senator--what was his name?--and Monsieur Mariette. I don't understand why you ask me such a thing. Why should we suppose there are any mysteries about Mr. Anderson?"
Unconsciously her slight figure had stiffened, her voice had changed.
Delaine felt an admonitory qualm. He would have drawn back; but it was too late. He went on doggedly--