“It’s rather stuck in my mind, you see—and I thought—”
“You’re not a detective, are you, Mr. Bannerlee?”
“Why—no—I—”
“Your name is Bannerlee, isn’t it?”
“Certainly, Miss Lebetwood.”
“Forgive me; it was rude. But I am so tired—and your question—”
“Please don’t—”
She interrupted, but her hesitation had become as great as mine, and there was certain displeasure in her tone. “Excuse me, I beg you, but I—don’t—think I want to tell you, Mr. Bannerlee. I can hardly call it my—secret, you know.”
“Pray excuse me for asking. But you may be called on to tell to-morrow. It will be painful, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, I hope I won’t have to. Really—really, it has nothing to do with—”