Chapter Thirty One.
“His Name!”
“Not a question of honour, Mr Statham!” she cried. “Is it not a question of my own honour!” and she stood before him, erect and defiant.
“My dear young lady,” he laughed, “pray calm yourself. Let us discuss the matter quietly.”
“There is nothing to discuss,” she exclaimed resentfully, looking straight into the old man’s grey face. “You have threatened to divulge the secret of my visit to you to-night if—if I refuse to betray my friend! Is such an action honourable? Does such a threat against a defenceless woman do you credit?” she asked.
“You misunderstand me,” he hastened to assure her, realising the mistake he had made.
“I understand that you ask me a question,” she said. “You wish me to repeat what was told to me in confidence—the secret imparted to me by the girl who was my beat friend!”
“Yes; I wish to know what Maud Petrovitch told you,” he answered, standing with his thin hands behind his back.