"Let us walk over there, and sit in that corner," he said, indicating a seat half hidden in the bamboos. "If there is no one near, I will explain. If we are watched, then we must contrive to find some other place."
"In our box," I suggested. "We can sit at the back in the alcove, where no one can see us."
"Excellent!" he answered. "I never thought of that. But if any of your party return there?"
"I can merely say that you invited me to dance, and I, in return, invited you there for a few moments' rest.
"Then let's go," he said, and a few minutes later we were sitting far back in the shadow of the box on the second tier, high above the music and gay revelry.
"Well," I inquired eagerly, when we were seated, "and why did you wish to see me to-night?"
"First, I have knowledge—which you will not, I think deny—that you loved a man in London—one Ernest Cameron."
"Well?"
"And at this moment there is a second man who, although not your lover, is often in your thoughts. The man's name is Benjamin Keppel. Am I correct?"
"I really don't see by what right you submit me to this cross-examination upon affairs which only concern myself," I responded in a hard voice, although I was eager to determine the identity of this masked man.