That night she scarcely slept
at all, only tumbling into sudden nightmare dreams when something
had her by the throat and Martin was not there. In the morning as
soon as she could escape she hurried to Piccadilly. Martin was
waiting for her. When she saw him she realised at once that her good
time was indeed over. His face was white and strained. He scarcely
looked at her but stared anxiously up and down the street.
"What is it?" she asked breathlessly. "Look here, Maggie," he began,
still scarcely looking at her. "I must get back at once. I only came
to tell you that we must drop our meetings for the next day or two--
until it's blown over."
"Until what's blown over," she asked him.
"It's my father. I don't know what exactly has happened. They'll
none of them tell me, damn them. It's Caroline Smith. She's been
talking to Amy about you and me. I know that because of what Amy
said about you at breakfast this morning."
"What did she say?"
"She wouldn't speak out. She hinted. But she admitted that Caroline
Smith had told her something. But she doesn't matter. Nothing
matters except father.
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