If I do,
it will change everything. I could see you once, at least, and let you
know. I really owe you that, I think, when you've been so kind to me."
"Yes," I agreed bitterly, with a pang of conscience, "I've been very
kind--particularly to-night!"
"Well, perhaps to-night you were just a little difficult." She was
smiling, but I didn't mind; I rather liked her mockery now. "Still, even
when you thought the worst of me, Mr. Bayne, you kept my secret. And--do
you really wish to come to see me?"
"I most emphatically do."
She drew a card from her beaded bag, rummaged vainly for a pencil, ended
by accepting mine, and scribbled a brief address.
"Then," she commanded, handing me the bit of pasteboard, "come to this
number at noon to-morrow and ask for me. And now, since I'm not to go to
prison, Mr. Bayne, I believe I am hungry. This is war bread, I suppose;
but it tastes delicious. And isn't the saltless butter nice?"
"And here are the chicken and the salad arriving!" I exclaimed
hopefully. "And there never was a French cook yet, however unspeakable
otherwise, who failed at those.
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