“I do. May I trust you?”
“Y-yes.”
“Thank you—” A bank bill was in her gloved fingers; intuition warned her; she took another swift look at Dulcie. The child’s face was flaming scarlet.
“Forgive me,” whispered Thessalie.... “And thank you, dear—” She bent over quickly, took Dulcie’s hand, pressed it, looking her in the eyes.
“It’s all right,” she whispered. “I am not asking you to do anything you shouldn’t. Mr. Barres will understand it all when I write to him.... Did you see that man at the street door, looking through the grating?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who he is?” whispered Thessalie.
“No.”
“Have you never before seen him?”
“Yes. He was here at two o’clock talking to my father.”