“I really don’t know exactly what I meant,” said Craven. “But I suppose it’s possible to conceive of circumstances in which a woman might know the identity of a thief and yet not wish to prosecute.”
“Very well. I’ll let you alone,” she rejoined. “But this mystery makes Lady Sellingworth more fascinating to me than ever. I’m not particularly curious about other people. I’m too busy about myself for that. But I would give a great deal to know a little more of her truth. Do you remember her remark when I said ‘I wish I had known you then’?”
“Yes. She said, ‘You would not have known me then.’”
“There have been two Adela Sellingworths. And I only know one. I do want to know the other. But I am almost sure I never shall. And yet she’s fond of me. I know that. She likes my being devoted to her. I feel she’s a book of wisdom, and I have only read a few pages.”
She walked on quickly with her light, athletic step. Just as they were passing Hyde Park Corner she said:
“I think I shall go to one of the ‘old guard.’”
“Why?” asked Craven.
“You ask questions to which you know the answers,” she retorted.
And then they talked of other things.
When they reached the hotel and Craven was about to say good-bye, Miss Van Tuyn said to him: