There was a dim oil-lamp in the shelter. With difficulty she held the fluttering paper up and just divined the words. Then the wind carried it away and blew it overboard. He rose and leaned against the edge of the shelter, looking down upon her. There was in his mind a sense of something solemn approaching, round which this sudden lull of blast and wave seemed to draw a "wind-warm space," closing them in.
"Why did you come with me?" she persisted, in an agitation she could now scarcely control. "It is evident you had not meant to travel. You have no luggage, and you are in evening-dress. And I remember now--you sent two letters from the station!"
"I wished to be your escort."
Her gesture was almost one of scorn at the evasion.
"Why were you at the station at all? Evelyn had told you I was at Bruges. And--you were dining out. I--I can't understand!"
She spoke with a frowning intensity, a strange queenliness, in which was neither guilt nor confusion.
A voice spoke in Delafield's heart. "Tell her!" it said.
He bent nearer to her.
"Miss Le Breton, with what friends were you going to stay in Paris?"
She breathed quick.