Her
heart was beating fast, her eyes--fixed on the man's face, waiting for
some explanation--were dilated.
"Thank you," he said, leaning toward her, in his hand a menu which the
waiter had placed before the girl while she was still alone. She noticed
that the hand was brown and nervous-looking, the hand of a man who might
be a musician or an artist. He was pretending to read the menu, and to
consult her about it. "You're a true woman, the right sort--brave. I
swear I'm not here for any impertinence. Now, will you go on helping me?
Can you keep your wits and not give me away, whatever happens?"
"I think so," answered the new Annesley. "What do you want me to do?" She
took the pitch of her tone from his, speaking quietly, and wondering if
she would not wake up in her ugly brown bedroom at Mrs. Ellsworth's, as
she had done a dozen times when dreaming in advance of her rendezvous at
the Savoy.
"It will be a shock when I tell you," he answered. "But for Heaven's
sake, don't misunderstand. I shouldn't ask this if it weren't absolutely
necessary. In case a man comes to this table and questions you, you must
let him suppose that you are my wife.
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