"I do in this case," he said firmly. "Therefore, take my advice and do not court disaster."
"Can't you be more explicit?" she asked, much puzzled by his strange words.
"No," he answered, shaking his head, "I cannot. I only forewarn you of what must happen. Therefore, I beg of you to take my advice and travel by the alternative route—if you really must go to Italy."
She turned towards the fire and, fixing her gaze upon the flames, remained for a few moments in thought, one neat foot upon the marble kerb.
"You really alarm me with all these serious utterances," she said at last, with a faint, nervous laugh.
He rose and stood by her side.
"Look here, Enid," he said, "can't you see that I am in dead earnest? Have I not already declared that I am your friend, to assist you against that man Weirmarsh?"
"Yes," she replied, "you have."
"Then will you not heed my warning? There is distinct danger in your visit to France—a danger of which you have no suspicion, but real and serious nevertheless. Don't think about spying; it is not that, I assure you."
"How can I avoid it?"