Tavernake was in no way reluctant.  It was a safe topic for conversation, and one concerning which he had plenty to say.  But after a time she stopped him.

“Well,” she said, “I have discovered at any rate one subject on which you can be fluent.  Now I have had enough of building properties, please, and house building.  I should like to hear a little about Beatrice.”

Tavernake was dumb.

“I do not wish to talk about Beatrice,” he declared, “until I understand the cause of this estrangement between you.”

Her eyes flashed angrily and her laugh sounded forced.

“Not even talk of her!  My dear friend,” she protested, “you scarcely repay the confidence I am placing in you!”

“You mean the money?”

“Precisely,” she continued.  “I trust you, why I do not know—­I suppose because I am something of a physiognomist—­with twelve thousand pounds of my hard-earned savings.  You refuse to trust me with even a few simple particulars about the life of my own sister.  Come, I don’t think that things are quite as they should be between us.”

“Do you know where I first met your sister?” Tavernake asked.

She shook her head pettishly.

“How should I?  You told me nothing.”

“She was staying in a boarding-house where I lived,” Tavernake went on.  “I think I told you that but nothing else.  It was a cheap boarding-house but she had not enough money to pay for her meals.  She was tired of life.  She was in a desperate state altogether.”

“Are you trying to tell me, or rather trying not to tell me, that Beatrice was mad enough to think of committing suicide?” Elizabeth inquired.

“She was in the frame of mind when such a step was possible,” he answered, gravely.  “You remember that night when I first saw you in the chemist’s shop across the street?  She had been very ill that evening, very ill indeed.  You could see for yourself the effect meeting you had upon her.”

Elizabeth nodded, and crumbled a little piece of roll between her fingers.  Then she leaned over the table towards Tavernake.

“She seemed terrified, didn’t she?  She hurried you away—­she seemed afraid.”

“It was very noticeable,” he admitted.  “She was terrified.  She dragged me out of the place.  A few minutes later she fainted in the cab.”

Elizabeth smiled.

“Beatrice was always over-sensitive,” she remarked.  “Any sudden shock unnerved her altogether.  Are you terrified of me, too, Mr. Tavernake?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, frankly.  “Sometimes I think that I am.”

She laughed softly.

“Why?” she whispered.

He looked into her eyes and he felt abject.  How was it possible to sit within a few feet of her and remain sane!

“You are so wonderful,” he said, in a low tone, “so different from any one else in the world!”