Say that I came to see you on important business concerning a
friend of yours in England, and had to call after the theatre because
I'm leaving Paris by the first train in the morning."
"No use."
"Why not? When a man loves a woman, he trusts her."
"No man of Latin blood, I think. And Raoul's already angry. He has the
right to be--or would have, if Godensky had been telling him the truth.
And I refused to let him come here. I said I was going straight to bed,
I was so tired. He's knocking again. Hide yourself, and I'll let him in.
Oh, _why_ do you stand there, looking at me like that? Go into that
room," and I pointed, then pushed him towards the door. "You can get
through the window and out of the garden--softly--while Raoul and I are
talking."
"If you insist," said Ivor. "But you're wrong. The best thing--"
"Go--go, I tell you. Don't argue. I know best," I cut him short, in a
sharp whisper, pushing him again.
This time he made no more objections, but went into the adjoining room,
my boudoir. The key was in the door; I turned it in the lock, snatched
it out, and dropped it into a bowl of flowers on a table close by. That
done, I flew out of the drawing-room into the little entrance hall, and
opened the front door.
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