“I beg your pardon,” I said rather stiffly, “for appearing to force your confidence. But as I first put the idea of joining your husband into your head and have enjoyed your confidence in the matter hitherto, I thought I might claim certain privileges.”
As she had done before, she laid her hands on my shoulders—we were alone in the alcove—and looked me in the eyes.
“Don't make me cry. I'm very near it. And I'm tired to-night, and I'm going to have a hellish time to-morrow. And I want you to do me a favour.”
“What is that?”
“When I'm seeing my husband, I'd like to know that you were within call—in case I wanted you. One never knows what may happen. You will come won't you, if I send for you?”
“I'm always at your service,” I said.
She released my shoulders and grasped my hand.
“Good-night,” she said, abruptly, and rushed swiftly out of the room, leaving me wondering more than I had ever wondered in my life at the inscrutable ways of women.