Her companion smiled. It was already dark, the shop windows were lit, and the hurrying crowd of passers-by did not notice them.
“You’ll come with me,” the man said sternly. “I want to talk to you seriously, and in privacy. It was useless in that place with half a dozen people around, all with ears open. Besides,” he added, “in a café of that sort I may be recognised.” Then he hailed a passing cab.
“No, no!” she cried, as it drew up to the kerb. “I won’t go—I won’t!”
“But you shall!” he declared firmly, taking her arm. “You know me well enough to be aware that I’m not to be trifled with. Come, you’ll obey me.”
She hesitated for a moment, gazed blankly around her as if seeking some one to protect her, sighed, and then slowly ascended into the vehicle.
“Athenaeum Club,” he shouted to the driver, and sprang in beside the trembling woman. It was evident from her manner that she held him in repugnance, while he, cool and triumphant, regarded her with satisfaction.
During the drive they exchanged few words. She was pensive and sullen, while he addressed her in a strangely rough manner for one of such outward refinement. They alighted, and descending the steps into the Mall at the point where a relic of old-time London still remains in the cow-sheds where fresh milk can be obtained, crossed the roadway and entered the Park by one of the deserted paths which ran down to the ornamental water.
“You thought to escape me—eh?” her companion exclaimed when at last they halted at one of the seats near the water. He was well acquainted with that quarter of London, for he had served as attaché at the Court of St. James twenty years ago.
“I had no object in so doing,” she answered boldly. In their drive she had decided upon a definite plan, and now spoke fearlessly.
“Why, then, have you not answered my letters?”