“I know Lady Teesdale,” Otley said. “But I wonder why she has asked me?”
“Don’t wonder, dear boy—but accept and come. We’ll have a real jolly time.”
And then they turned into the Boulevard des Italiens and idled before some of the shops.
At noon she was compelled to leave him and return to her mother. He put her into a taxi outside the Grand Hotel, and then they parted.
Before doing so, the girl said:
“What about next Wednesday? Shall we meet?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Very well,” she exclaimed. “Wednesday at six—eh? I’ll come up to your rooms. We can talk there. I don’t like to see you so worried, dear. There’s something you’re concealing from me, I’m sure of it.”
Then he bent over her hand in a fashion more courtly than the “Cheerio!” of to-day, and standing on the curb watched the taxi speed down the Rue de la Paix.
“Ah!” he murmured aloud, drawing a deep sigh. “Ah! If she only knew!—if she only knew!”