"Afraid? Why?"
"It's partly on Jacques' account—his son's. If we do what they ask of us they say that they won't send him to New Caledonia. But I believe it is all blague." She looked up at Warner out of her troubled grey eyes. "Espionage—that has been my metier since I was taken out of school—to listen in the cabaret, to learn to keep my eyes open, to relate to the Patron whatever I saw or heard concerning any client the Government desired him to watch.... Do you think that is a very pleasant life for a young girl?"
His face became expressionless.
"Not very," he said. "Go on."
She said thoughtfully:
"It is a horrible profession, Mr. Warner. Why should I continue it? Are there no police? Why should I, Philippa Wildresse, do their dirty work? Can you explain? Alors, I have asked myself that many, many times. Today, at last, I have answered my own question: I shall never again play the spy for anybody! C'est fini! Voilà!"
Warner remained silent.
"Why, it is revolting!" she exclaimed. "Figurez-vous, Monsieur! I was even signaled to spy upon you! Can you conceive such a thing?"
"On me?" he repeated, bewildered and angry.
"Certainly. That is why I danced with you. I am permitted to dance only with clients under observation."