“Upon one condition only.”
“What is that?” he inquired eagerly.
“That you tell me the reasons which caused you to drug me, and the name of the scoundrel who assisted you,” she replied calmly.
Their conversation was interrupted at this juncture by the reappearance of the verger, who inquired whether he would be wanted any more, as he had locked up the church, and was ready to go to his dinner. Holt replied in the negative, and the feeble old man departed, swinging his great bunch of jingling keys as he went.
When they were alone, the artist’s model again referred to her stipulation, and pressed for an answer.
“No,” he replied decisively, “I cannot tell you—I cannot.”
“For what reason, pray?”
“The reason is best known to myself,” he answered, endeavouring to assume an air of unconcern.
“You flatly refuse?”
“I do.”