“Well, you must think my visit here curious, m’sieur. It is. Nevertheless, I trust I may be forgiven for encroaching upon your time, and coming here without introduction. The object of my call is of some concern to you, inasmuch as it is in the interests of one who loves you.”
“One who loves me!” he echoed in surprise. “Who?”
“Liane Brooker,” answered his fair visitor. “In her interests, and in yours.”
“Are you, then, a friend of Liane’s?” he inquired, suddenly interested.
“Well, not exactly,” she replied, a little evasively he thought.
Then she replaced her cigarette daintily between her lips, and continued smoking with that ease and grace acquired by ladies who are in the habit of soothing their nerves with tobacco.
“Are you acquainted with Captain Brooker?” he asked.
“Yes, we have met,” she answered. “You know him, of course? He is such a kind-hearted man, such a thorough Bohemian, yet such a perfect gentleman.”
“Unfortunately, I have only met him on one or two occasions,” George said. In an instant it had occurred to him that from his mysterious visitor he might learn what Liane and poor Nelly had always refused to tell him. “He has lived here, in France, for some years. What has been his profession?”
“Profession!” she exclaimed, raising her dark well shaped eyebrows. “What! are you unaware?”