My theories must have been moonshine. Everything was
all right, probably. But for the sake of prudence I ought to keep track
of her. Besides, I wanted to.
Gratitude and consternation, a most becoming mixture, were in her eyes.
She drew back a little.
"Oh, thank you, but that's impossible," she said uncertainly. "I have
friends, too; but they can't help me. Nobody can."
"Well," I admitted sadly, "I know the rudiments of manners. I can
recognize a conge, but consider me a persistent boor. Come, Miss
Falconer, why mayn't I call? Because we are strangers? If that's it, you
can assure yourself at the embassy that I am perfectly respectable; and
you see I don't eat with my knife or tuck my napkin under my chin or
spill my soup."
Again that warm flush.
"Mr. Bayne!" she exclaimed indignantly. "Did I need an introduction to
speak to you on the ship, to ask unreasonable favors of you, to make
people think you a spy? If you are going to imagine such absurd things,
I shall have to--"
"To consent? I hoped you might see it that way."
"Of course," she pondered aloud, "I may find good news waiting.
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