It was Madame who spoke first, but before doing so she drew a chair to his side and sat down. Then she said:
“Sir Paul, I owe you a deep apology.”
Westerham contented himself with a slight inclination of his weary head, and waited for Madame to explain.
“I can speak quite frankly now,” she said, “knowing that there is no one about to overhear, and I must begin by asking you to forgive me.”
Westerham nodded, but still said nothing, though now he saw plainly enough that the letter had merely been a blind.
“Yet,” Madame continued, turning her face away from him, “it was not so great a lie. Lady Kathleen was in peril, and is still in peril, but not in the peril which I really imagined at the time.”
“What do you mean?” asked Westerham.
Madame glanced uneasily about her, and then shrugged her shoulders.
“I cannot tell you, my friend. I wish I could.”
“She was in peril, is still in peril, but not in the peril in which she was,” Westerham repeated to himself. He removed his puzzled gaze from the woman's face and glanced at his feet.