She glanced towards the hotel door again; I followed suit and then our
eyes met once more, this time intentionally. A tentative, uncertain
intimacy was springing up between us two. She said simply: "You are
waiting for Mr. Fyne to come out; are you?"
I admitted to her that I was waiting to see Mr. Fyne come out. That was
all. I had nothing to say to him.
"I have said yesterday all I had to say to him," I added meaningly. "I
have said it to them both, in fact. I have also heard all they had to
say."
"About me?" she murmured.
"Yes. The conversation was about you."
"I wonder if they told you everything."
If she wondered I could do nothing else but wonder too. But I did not
tell her that. I only smiled. The material point was that Captain
Anthony should be told everything. But as to that I was very certain
that the good sister would see to it. Was there anything more to
disclose--some other misery, some other deception of which that girl had
been a victim? It seemed hardly probable. It was not even easy to
imagine. What struck me most was her--I suppose I must call
it--composure.
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