“If I had any doubt, Signor Waldron, I should not trouble to raise this alarm,” she answered in a tone of slight reproach.
“But how can I leave Rome?” he asked, for he was reflecting that to adopt her suggestion was impossible. His duty to the King, as well as his duty to the British Service, precluded it at present. “Cannot you go on leave again? Or—or cannot you get appointed to another post for six months—or a year?”
He was silent, his eyes fixed upon hers.
“Are you so very anxious then to get rid of me?” he asked gravely.
“To get rid of you?” she echoed blankly. “To get rid of you—my most sincere and devoted friend! How can you suggest such a thing?”
“Well, it almost seems so,” he answered with a smile.
“My dear Signor Waldron, I warn you most seriously that you are in grave personal peril, and that—”
“But you do not tell me how you know this, Lola,” he interrupted. “I am naturally most curious to know.”
“Without doubt,” she responded, her eyes cast down. “But the information is from a source which I have no desire to divulge. I learnt it entirely by accident.”
“It was not contained in that letter I brought you from Brussels?” he asked very slowly, for of that he held a faint suspicion. He looked her straight in the eyes.