Something that he could not decipher flashed through Elizabeth’s expression.  It was a strange and thrilling sense that what she had gathered she would not reveal for—­a kingdom!

“Monsieur Mariette told me all that anyone need want to know!” she cried, breathing quick.  “Ask him what he thinks—­what he feels!  But if you ask me, I think Mr. Anderson carries his history in his face.”

Delaine pondered a moment, while Elizabeth waited, challenging, expectant, her brown eyes all vivacity.

“Well—­some facts have come to my knowledge,” he said, at last, “which have made me ask you these questions.  My only object—­you must, you will admit that!—­is to save you possible pain—­a possible shock.”

“Mr. Arthur!” the voice was peremptory—­“If you have learned anything about Mr. Anderson’s private history—­by chance—­without his knowledge—­that perhaps he would rather we did not know—­I beg you will not tell me—­indeed—­please—­I forbid you to tell me.  We owe him much kindness these last few weeks.  I cannot gossip about him behind his back.”

All her fine slenderness of form, her small delicacy of feature, seemed to him tense and vibrating, like some precise and perfect instrument strained to express a human feeling or intention.  But what feeling?  While he divined it, was she herself unconscious of it?  His bitterness grew.

“Dear Lady Merton—­can you not trust an old friend?”

She did not soften.

“I do trust him.  But”—­her smile flashed—­“even new acquaintances have their rights.”

“You will not understand,” he said, earnestly.  “What is in my mind came to me, through no wish or will of mine.  You cannot suppose that I have been prying into Mr. Anderson’s affairs!  But now that the information is mine, I feel a great responsibility towards you.”

“Don’t feel it.  I am a wilful woman.”

“A rather perplexing one!  May I at least be sure that”—­he hesitated—­“that you will be on your guard?”

“On my guard?” she lifted her eyebrows proudly—­“and against what?”

“That is precisely what you won’t let me tell you.”

She laughed—­a little fiercely.

“There we are; no forrarder.  But please remember, Mr. Arthur, how soon we shall all be separating.  Nothing very dreadful can happen in these few days—­can it?”

For the first time there was a touch of malice in her smile.

Delaine rose, took one or two turns along the path in front of her, and then suddenly stopped beside her.

“I think”—­he said, with emphasis, “that Mr. Anderson will probably find himself summoned away—­immediately—­before you get to Vancouver.  But that I will discuss with him.  You could give me no address, so I have not yet been able to communicate with him.”

Again Elizabeth’s eyebrows went up.  She rose.

“Of course you will do what you think best.  Shall we go back to the hotel?”