“No, I cannot,” she responded, speaking in broken English for the first time, and apparently forgetting herself in her excitement. “If you are not warned it is your own fault.”
“You say you know her,” I observed. “Where did you meet her?”
“In Italy—under strange circumstances.”
“With her father?”
“Yes,” she answered after a moment’s hesitation, and across her countenance there spread a strange look of mystery. “But we need not discuss that subject further,” she added, lapsing again into Italian, which she spoke with a Florentine accent. “I wish to ask your forgiveness for stealing your book. I can only urge leniency on the ground that I acted at the instigation and under compulsion of others.”
“I forgive you if you will tell me who instigated you to commit the theft,” I said.
“No, I cannot do that. I ask your forgiveness, and in order to atone for what I have done I came here to warn you of the great peril which threatens you. Beware of your association with Judith Gordon!”
“What?” I cried. “Do you mean to insinuate that she is my bitter enemy?”
“Beware of her is all I say.”
“And how do you suggest I should act?” I demanded, much surprised at this strange woman’s allegations against my love.