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It was easy to understand that she did not want to meet Fyne. And when I
mentioned in a discreet murmur that he had come because of her letter she
glanced at the hotel door quickly, and moved off a few steps to a
position where she could watch the entrance without being seen. I
followed her. At the junction of the two thoroughfares she stopped in
the thin traffic of the broad pavement and turned to me with an air of
challenge. "And so you know."
I told her that I had not seen the letter. I had only heard of it. She
was a little impatient. "I mean all about me."
Yes. I knew all about her. The distress of Mr. and Mrs. Fyne--especially
of Mrs. Fyne--was so great that they would have shared it with anybody
almost--not belonging to their circle of friends. I happened to be at
hand--that was all.
"You understand that I am not their friend. I am only a holiday
acquaintance."
"She was not very much upset?" queried Flora de Barral, meaning, of
course, Mrs. Fyne. And I admitted that she was less so than her
husband--and even less than myself. Mrs.


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