“Yes, but I can’t take Mason. She must remain in ignorance. She knows far too much of my affairs already.”
“Well, I can’t go with you. It would be madness. And you cannot go alone.”
She was silent, her lips pressed together, her brows knit. Her countenance was hard and troubled, and there was a look of unmistakable terror in those wonderful eyes of hers.
“And if I act on your advice, Wilfrid, will you meet me in secret in London to-morrow or the next day?”
“Certainly. I will do all I can to help you—only accept my advice and take Mason with you. Mislead her, just as you are misleading everyone.”
“You will not think ill of me if I ask you something?” she said, seriously, looking very earnestly up into my face.
“Certainly not. You can be perfectly open and straightforward with me, surely.”
“Then I want you to do something—although I’m almost afraid to ask you.”
“And what’s that?”
“I have no one else I can trust, Wilfrid, as I trust you. You are a man of honour and I am an honest woman, even though my enemies have whispered their calumnies regarding me. You are my friend; if you were not I surely dare not ask you to help me in this,” and her voice faltered as she averted her gaze. “I want you—I want you to pretend that you are my husband.”