He looked at her with a certain curiosity. She was a very elegant
young woman, slightly taller perhaps than her sister, and with an air
of reserved strength underneath her quiet face and manner which
Annabel may have lacked. It was hard to associate her with the stories
which he and all Paris had heard of "Alcide."
"You, then," he said, "are 'Alcide.' That wonderful poster--is of
you."
She lifted her eyebrows.
"I am sorry," she said, "if you find the likeness unsatisfactory. My
friends consider it wonderfully faithful. Have you any more questions
to ask me?"
Sir John, on his way down, had determined to hint to this young woman
that, providing certain contingencies which he had in his mind should
come to pass, he would be prepared to make her a handsome offer to
change her name. He found, however, that now the time had come he
utterly lacked the courage to attempt any such speech.
"None, I thank you," he answered. "I will not intrude upon you
further."
"Wait," she said.
He turned back at once.
"I have answered all your questions," she said. "Perhaps you will not
object to answering one for me. You have thought it worth while to
take some considerable pains to resolve for yourself my sister's
identity. May I ask the nature of your interest in her?"
He hesitated.
"It is not an easy matter," he said, "for me to offer you an
altogether adequate explanation. I have only seen your sister for a
very brief time, and I am a little past the age when a man does
headstrong things. At the same time, I must say that I am most anxious
to improve my acquaintance with her. I am a single man, and----"
"Thank you," she interrupted. "I will not ask you to explain further.
Good night."
He left at once, immensely relieved, yet scarcely satisfied with
himself as regarded his share of the interview with this young woman.
They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing
fainter and fainter. Then Courtlaw looked across at her with a white
puzzled face.
"Why did you lie to that man?" he asked fiercely. "How dared you do
yourself this injustice?"
"I did it for her sake," she answered. "It may be her salvation. I
believe that he will marry her."
"You would let him--knowing--all that you know?"
"Why not? She is my flesh and blood. She is more dear to me than
anything else. Perhaps if I had watched over her more closely, things
would have been different."
"You! Why, you have been an angel to her," he exclaimed impatiently.
"You know very well that she is selfish and pleasure-loving to the
backbone. You have made enough sacrifices for her surely without this.
Besides, you cannot tell where it will end. You have taken upon your
shoulders the burden of her misdeeds. You may have to carry them
further and longer than you think. Oh, it is unbearable."