"Of course not," said I. "Nor would I put it into your hands without Lackaday's consent. Anyhow, that's my authority and warrant."
She threw the stub of her cigarette across the terrace and went back to the original cry:
"Oh Tony, if you had only given me some kind of notion!" "I've tried to prove to you that I couldn't."
"I suppose not," she admitted wearily.
"Men have their standards. Forgive me if I've been unreasonable."
When a woman employs her last weapon, her confession of unreason, and demands forgiveness, what can a man do but proclaim himself the worm that he is? We went through a pretty scene of reconciliation.
"And now," said I, "what did Lackaday, in terms of plain fact, tell you down there?"
She told me. Apparently he had given her a précis of his life's history amazingly on the lines of a concentrated military despatch.
"Lady Auriol," said he, as soon as they were out of earshot, "you are here by some extraordinary coincidence. In a few hours you will be bound to hear all about me which I desired you never to know. It is best that I should tell you myself, at once."
It was extraordinary what she had learned from him in those few minutes. He had gone on remorselessly, in his staccato manner, as if addressing a parade, which I knew so well, putting before her the dry yet vital facts of his existence.