“A visitor?”
“Yes,” she laughed. “Somebody you know.”
“Who?”
“A great friend of yours.”
I looked at her puzzled.
“A friend—man or woman?”
“Female,” she assured us with a charming accent. “Your friend Mademoiselle Thorold.”
“Vera!” I gasped. “Is she here?”
“Yes,” was her reply. “She is here.”
How well Vera knew my character when she told me that day I was “susceptible.” I think I am dreadfully so. The look in those great brown eyes gazing into mine seemed to weaken my will until I had to answer almost sulkily—