Get back to where you were."
Then Tavernake for the first time laughed--a laugh that sounded
even natural.
"Have you ever found a man who could do that?" he asked. "The
candle gives a good light sometimes, but you'll never think it
the finest illumination in the world when you've seen the sun.
Never mind me, Pritchard. I'm going to do my best still, but
there's one thing that nothing will alter. I am going to make
that woman tell me her story, I am going to listen to the way she
tells it to me. You think that where women are concerned I am a
fool. I am, but there is one great boon which has been
vouchsafed to fools--they can tell the true from the false. Some
sort of instinct, I suppose. Elizabeth shall tell me her story
and I shall know, when she tells it, whether she is what you say
or what she has seemed to me."
Pritchard held out his hand.
"You're a queer sort, Tavernake," he declared. "You take life
plaguy seriously. I only hope you 'll get all out of it you
expect to. So long!"
Tavernake opened the window after his visitor had gone, and
leaned out for some few minutes, letting the fresh air into the
close, stifling room. Then he went upstairs, bathed and changed
his clothes, made some pretense at breakfast, went through his
letters with methodical exactness. At eleven o'clock he set out
upon his pilgrimage.
CHAPTER XXVII
TAVERNAKE CHOOSES
Tavernake was kept waiting in the hall of the Milan Court for at
least half an hour before Elizabeth was prepared to see him.
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