She had remained thoughtful, letting her deep motionless eyes rest on the
streaming jumble of traffic. Suddenly she said:
"And I wanted to ask you . . . I was really glad when I saw you actually
here. Who would have expected you here, at this spot, before this hotel!
I certainly never . . . You see it meant a lot to me. You are the only
person who knows . . . who knows for certain . . . "
"Knows what?" I said, not discovering at first what she had in her mind.
Then I saw it. "Why can't you leave that alone?" I remonstrated, rather
annoyed at the invidious position she was forcing on me in a sense. "It's
true that I was the only person to see," I added. "But, as it happens,
after your mysterious disappearance I told the Fynes the story of our
meeting."
Her eyes raised to mine had an expression of dreamy, unfathomable
candour, if I dare say so. And if you wonder what I mean I can only say
that I have seen the sea wear such an expression on one or two occasions
shortly before sunrise on a calm, fresh day. She said as if meditating
aloud that she supposed the Fynes were not likely to talk about that.
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