"It was that last day before she went. She began by telling me about herself and how unhappy she had been; and then she let out that there was some man she hated; and then she began asking questions about you and Denis, coupling you together, do you see?—but so that you couldn't help guessing it was you she'd been talking about. One thing she asked was whether Denis would tell a lie to save a friend. And then Denis himself came up, and they talked flying; and she said she should go to Bredon some day and see the aeroplanes."
"You think she really meant business?"
"Yes, I do."
"Pleasant," said Gardiner, tugging at his mustache, with a sort of hard restraint. "If she exploits Denis as she did me, he'll enjoy himself. Yes, I shall be very much obliged if you'll write to him. He'll take it better from you than from me."
"I wish I'd known before," said Lettice, folding up her work.
"Oh, it's all right so far, she hasn't turned up at Bredon yet. I heard from Denis this morning."
"Yes, but don't you see if she did go she'd be sure to tell him not to tell you?"
He did see, and felt sick. It cost him an effort to lie still. But he pulled himself together; that last secret, at least, she should not read. What to say, then? He would not confess, but equally he would not lie to her. He found something which was neither lie, confession, nor equivocation, but a piece of plain fact.
"If she ever does get hold of the truth about Trent, she'll be uncommonly sorry she tried to find out."