“Then let us say in the lounge of the Hôtel Russell at eight o’clock. But not a soul must know!” she whispered.
Then aloud she said cheerily, just as Sylvia came out of the morning-room:
“Well, good-bye, Mr. Falconer, good-bye!”
And they shook hands, and a few moments later he was walking towards Grosvenor Square more than ever perplexed.
Next evening he was again in London, and in great anxiety arrived at the hotel in Russell Square where, passing through the hall, he saw May Farncombe awaiting him in the lounge. She had on her hat and coat, and rose to meet him, pale-faced and anxious.
“You see I’m back!” she said with a faint smile. “We can’t talk here. Somebody may overhear us! Let us walk around the Square—eh?”
This they did. They walked together slowly four times round the Square, though the night was very cold and windy. Neither thought of the weather, for the girl was too perturbed and excited, and the man too annoyed and astounded at what she revealed to him.
The facts which, in desperation she disclosed, staggered him. He promised to assist her, while she, on her part, thanked him profusely and revealed certain extraordinary circumstances which held him dumbfounded and fiercely angry.
At last they turned back into the hotel, and after sitting with her in the lounge for some time, he rose, and gripping her gloved hand, thanked her for her confidence.
“I shall really go to Paris to-morrow morning,” she said. “But remember all that I have said, and respect my confidence—won’t you, Mr. Falconer?”