"I suppose you can ask it," Tavernake rejoined. "I am not
obliged to answer, am I?"
The man smiled.
"Come," he said, "that's honest, at any rate. Are you in a hurry
for a few minutes?"
"I am in no particular hurry," Tavernake answered. "What do you
want?"
"A few nights ago," the stranger continued, lowering his voice a
little, "I met you with a young lady whose appearance, for some
reason which we needn't go into, interested me. To-night I
happened to overhear you inquiring, only a few minutes ago, for
the sister of the same young lady."
"What you heard doesn't concern me in the least," Tavernake
retorted. "I should say that you had no business to listen."
His companion smiled.
"Well," he declared, "I have always heard a good deal about
British frankness, and it seems to me that I'm getting some.
Anyway, I'll tell you where I come in. I am interested in Mrs.
Wenham Gardner. I am interested, also, in her sister, whom I
think you know--Miss Beatrice Franklin, not Miss Tavernake!"
Tavernake made no immediate reply. The man was an American,
without a doubt. Perhaps he knew something of Beatrice. Perhaps
this was one of the friends of that former life concerning which
she had told him nothing.
"You are not, by any chance, proposing," Tavernake said at last,
"to discuss either of these ladies with me? I do not know you or
what your business may be. In any case, I am going now."
The other laid his hand on Tavernake's shoulder.
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