"Hugh, you are an old friend, and I wish I were at liberty to tell you,
but I regret I am not. Request no explanation, and rest assured that
Valerie and myself are not lovers, and, further, that we never were."
"Are you aware that Valerie and my late brother were acquainted?"
Trethowen asked suddenly.
"How did you discover that?" exclaimed the artist in astonishment.
"Then you appear to know that she was a friend of his," remarked Hugh
dryly.
"No; I--it's the first I've heard of it. Who told you?"
"I want to know whether it's a fact or not," persisted his friend.
"I don't know," he replied sullenly.
"You mean, you positively refuse to tell me?"
"No; it is inability."
The two men continued their conversation for a short time longer, then
Hugh left and returned to his chambers, not, however, before the warm
friendship which had previously existed between them had been resumed.
That evening Jacob handed his master a telegram from Valerie. She had
evidently made a sudden resolve, and had lost no time in carrying it
into effect, for the message read--
"_As you appear to doubt my explanation I have decided to leave England
for the present. If you desire to write, a letter to 46, Avenue de la
Toison d'Or, Brussels, will always find me_."
With a prolonged whistle he sank into his chair, staring aimlessly at
the indistinct words on the pink paper which he held between his
fingers.
He was half inclined to believe he had misjudged her.