“No,” she said hoarsely. “Go, Gerald. Leave me! When we meet again I shall be calmer than I am now.”
Her face was deathly pale; her eyes had a distinct look of terror in them.
“Very well,” I answered when again she had urged me to leave her; “if you insist, I will go. But remember that if I can be of service, Yolande, I am ready at once to render you assistance. Good-bye,” and I pressed her hand in sympathy.
She burst into tears.
“Farewell,” she faltered.
Then I turned, and, bowing, went forth into the glaring sunshine of the boulevard.
She had virtually admitted a close acquaintance with a man upon whom distinct suspicion rested, and her actions had been those of a guilty woman. My thoughts were full of that interview and its painful ending as I walked back towards the Embassy.