"You are doing something else?" she protested. "You were, perhaps, thinking of taking out again the little girl with whom you were sitting last night?""I had half promised - ""No, no!" she exclaimed, holding his hand tighter. "She is not for you - that child. She is too young. She knows nothing. Better to leave her alone. She is not for a man of the world like you. Soon she would cease to amuse you. You would be dull and she would still care. Oh, there is so much tragedy in these things, Mr. Laverick - so much tragedy for the woman! It is she always who suffers. You will take my advice. You will leave that little girl alone."Laverick smiled.
"I am afraid," said he, "that I cannot promise that so quickly. You see, I have not known her long, but she has very few friends and Ithink that she would miss me. Perhaps," he added, after a second's pause, "I care for her too much.""It is not for you," she answered scornfully, "to care too much.
An Englishman, he cares never enough. A woman to him is something amusing, - his companion for a little of his spare time, something to be pleased about, to show off to his friends, - to share, even, the passion of the moment. But an Englishman he does not care too much. He never cares enough. He does not know what it is to care enough.""Mademoiselle, there may be truth in what you say, and again there may not. We have the name, I know, of being cold lovers, but at least we are faithful."She held up her hand with a little grimace.
"Oh, how I do hate that word!" she exclaimed. "Who is there, indeed, who wishes that you would be faithful? How much we poor women do suffer from that! Why can you never understand that a woman would be cared for very, very much, with all the strength and all the passion you can conceive, but let it not last for too long. It gets weary. It gets stale. It is as you say, - the Englishman he cares very little, perhaps, but he cares always; and the woman, if she be an artiste and a woman, she tires. But good afternoon, Mr. Laverick!
I must not keep you here on the pavement talking of these frivolous matters. You come to-night?""You are very kind," Laverick said. "If I may come until eleven o'clock, it would give me the greatest pleasure.""As you will," she declared. "We shall see. I expect you, then.
You ask for your box."
"If you wish it, certainly."
She smiled and waved her hand.
"You will tell him, please," she directed, "to drive to Bond Street."Laverick re-entered his office, pausing for a minute to give his clerk instructions for the purchase of stocks for Mademoiselle Idiale. He had scarcely reached his own room when he was told that Mr. James Shepherd wished to speak to him for a moment upon the telephone. He took up the receiver.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"It is Shepherd," was the answer. "Is that Mr. Laverick?""Yes!""You were outside the restaurant here a few minutes ago," Shepherd continued. "You had with you a lady - a young, tall lady with a veil.""That's right," Laverick admitted. "What about her?""One of the two men who watch always here was reading the paper in the window," Shepherd went on hoarsely. "He saw her with you and I heard him mutter something as though he had received a shock. He dropped his glass and his paper. He watched you every second of the time you were there until you had disappeared. Then he, too, put on his hat and went out.""Anything else?""Nothing else," was the reply. "I thought you might like to know this, sir. The man recognized the lady right enough.""It seems queer," Laverick admitted. "Thank you for ringing me up, Shepherd. Good morning!"Laverick leaned back in his chair. There was no doubt whatever now in his mind but that Mademoiselle Idiale, for some reason or other, was interested in this crime. Her wish to see the place, her introduction to him last night and her purchase of stocks, were all part of a scheme. He was suddenly and absolutely convinced of it.
As friend or foe, she was very certainly about to take her place amongst the few people over whom this tragedy loomed.
