"But all the same," said I, "you're dying to know the word of the enigma."
She laughed scornfully. "I know it, my friend."
"The deuce you do!" said I, thinking of Petit Patou and wondering how she had guessed. "What is it?"
"A woman of course."
"Did he tell you?" I asked, startled, for that shed a new light on the matter.
"No." She boomed the word at me. "What on earth do you suppose was the meaning of our talk about playing the game?"
"Well, my dear," said I, "if it comes to that, do you think it was playing the game for him, a married man with possibly a string of children, to come down here and make love to you?"
She flared up. "He never made love to me. You've no right to say such a thing. If there was any love-making, it was I that made it. Ninety per cent of the love-making in the world is the work of women. And you know it, although you pretend to be shocked. And I'm not ashamed of myself in the least. As soon as I set my eyes on him I said 'That's the man I want,' and I soon saw that I could give him what he never had before--and I kept him to me, so that I could give it him. And I gloried in it. I don't care whether he has ten wives or twenty children. I'm telling you because"--she started up and looked me full in the face--"upon my word I don't know why--except that you're a comfortable sort of creature, and if you know everything you'll be able to deal with the pet lambs." She rose, held out her hand. "You must be bored stiff."
"On the contrary," said I, "I'm vastly interested--and honoured, my dear Auriol. But tell me. As all this sad, mad, glad affair seems to have come to a sudden stop, what do you propose to do?"
"I don't know," she replied with a half laugh. "What I feel like doing is to set out for Hell by the most adventurous route."