“My dear!” she exclaimed, clutching Helen's arm, “I see it all!”
“Oh!” cried the girl, “how you startled me! I thought you were ill or that you had seen something frightful.”...
“I HAVE... seen something... frightful,” declared Denise Ryland. She glared across at the haggard Leroux. “Harry... Leroux,” she continued, “it is very fortunate... that I came to London... very fortunate.”
“I am sincerely glad that you did,” answered the novelist, with one of his kindly, weary smiles.
“My dear,” said Denise Ryland, turning again to Helen Cumberly, “you say you met that... cross-eyed... being... Gianapolis, again?”
“Good Heavens!” cried Helen; “I thought I should never get rid of him; a most loathsome man!”
“My dear... child”—Denise squeezed her tightly by the arm, and peered into her face, intently—“cul-tivate... DELIBERATELY cul-tivate that man's acquaintance!”
Helen stared at her friend as though she suspected the latter's sanity.
“I am afraid I do not understand at all,” she said, breathlessly.
“I am positive that I do not,” declared Leroux, who was as much surprised as Helen. “In the first place I am not acquainted with this cross-eyed being.”