“Thank you, Pat,” said Simon tenderly. He rose to his feet. “And now
let’s go an’ have a dance.”
The girl rose and led the way to the door.
Arrived there, she closed it carefully and swung about.
“Simon!” Her hands were upon his shoulders, and her face three inches
away. “Simon, you terrify me! What have you done? From the moment you
left me at Goodwood, I’ve been frightened to death. When first I saw you
that day, there was something wrong. Then you behaved so strangely—as
if you didn’t care. Suddenly you promised me the letter, as one promises
sweets to a child. And now—here it is. . . . Simon, for God’s sake tell
me! What have you done?”
Simon patted her arm.
“Done?” he said, smiling. “Nothing.”
“But why—how. . . . How did you get my letter?”
“To tell you the truth, I bought it.”
“_Bought it?_”
“Bought it. I happened to have ten thousand and I bought it with that.”
Patricia tried to speak, but no words would come.
She began to tremble.
The man put an arm about her and guided her to a chair.
“Listen, dear,” he said, and told her his tale.