“You don't mean to tell me,” cried Westerham, “that whereas my life has been spared hers is not safe.”
Mme. Estelle nodded.
“Good Heavens!” cried Westerham. “But this is monstrous—perfectly monstrous! What does all this juggling mean?”
“Please don't excite yourself, Sir Paul!” said Mme. Estelle. “It can do no good. Believe me that I bear Lady Kathleen no ill-will, and that if I can save her I will do so, even at the cost of being a little disloyal to Melun.”
“But why all this trickery and mystery?” demanded Westerham again. “It almost amounts to tomfoolery. One would think that Melun had gone crazy and was indulging in some mad whim.”
“Perhaps it is a whim, but it is a whim with a very serious motive.”
“Come,” she added, “let's try to get some breakfast. I promise you that if you will only endeavour to get strong during the day you shall certainly see Lady Kathleen to-night.”
“Where?”
“Where,” said Mme. Estelle, “I don't know. I can only guess. It was not my business to ask questions on that point. The cab will call for you to-night at nine.”
“The cab!” exclaimed Westerham. “Do you mean the same vehicle which brought me here? For if you mean that then I decline to travel in it.”