Notwithstanding | Page 7

to save me, though not in the right way. Poor Dick,
he does not know much. But I must stay and nurse him till he is better.
I can't desert him."
"My dear," said Mrs. Stoddart impatiently, "that is all very well, but
you cannot remain here without a scandal. It is different for an old
woman like myself. And though we have not yet got into touch with his
family, we shall directly. If I can't get a clue otherwise, I shall apply to
the police. You must think of your own character."
"I do not care about my character," said Annette in the same tone in
which she might have said she did not care for black coffee.
"But I do," said Mrs. Stoddart to herself.

"And I have a little money," Annette continued,--"at least, not much
money, only a few louis,--but I have these." And she drew out from her
neck a row of pearls. They were not large pearls, but they were even
and beautifully matched.
"They were mother's," she said. "They will be enough for the doctor
and the nurse and the hotel bill, won't they?"
Mrs. Stoddart put down the bottle of lotion and took the pearls in her
hand, and bent over them, trying to hide her amazement.
"They are very good," she said slowly,--beautiful colour and shape."
Then she raised her eyes, and they fell once more on the bottle.
"But what am I thinking of?" she said sharply. "There is the clue I need
staring me in the face. How incredibly stupid I am! There is the Paris
chemist's name on it, and the number of the prescription. I can wire to
him for the address to which he sent the bottle."
"Dick has a valet at his address," said Annette, "and of course he would
know all about his people."
"How do you know he has a valet?"
"He met Dick at the station with the luggage. He was to have come to
Fontainebleau with him, but Dick sent him back at the last moment, I
suppose because of--me."
"Would you know him again if you saw him?"
"Yes. I watched Dick talking to him for several minutes. He would not
go away at first. Perhaps he knew Dick was ill and needed care."
"Most likely. Did he see you?"
"No."
"Are you certain?"

"Quite certain."
"There is then one microscopic mercy to be thankful for. Then no one
knows that you are here with Mr. Le Geyt?"
"No one, but I dare say it will be known presently," said Annette
apathetically.
"Not if I can prevent it," said Mrs. Stoddart to herself as she put on her
pince-nez and went out to telegraph to the chemist.
Annette went back to the bedside, and the Sister withdrew to the
window and got out her breviary.
Annette sat down and leaned her tired head against the pillow with
something like envy of Dick's unconsciousness. Would a certain
hideous picture ever be blotted out from her aching brain? Her only
respite from it was when she could minister to Dick. He was her sole
link with life, the one fixed point in a shifting quicksand. She came
very near to loving him in these days.
Presently he stirred and sighed, and opened his eyes. They wandered to
the ceiling, and then fell idly on her without knowing her, as they had
done a hundred times. Then recognition slowly dawned in them, clear
and grave.
She raised her head, and they looked long at each other.
"Annette," he said in a whisper, "I am sorry."
She tried to speak, but no words came.
"Often, often, when I have been lying here," he said feebly, "I have
been sorry, but I could never say so. Just when I saw your face clear I
always went away again, a long way off. Would you mind holding my
hand, so that I may not be blown away again?"
She took it in both of hers and held it.

There was a long silence. A faint colour fluttered in his leaden cheek.
"I never knew such a wind," he said. "It's stronger than anything in the
world, and it blows and blows, and I go hopping before it like a leaf. I
have to go. I really can't stay."
"You are much better. You will soon be able to get up."
"I don't know where I'm going, but I don't care. I don't want to get up.
I'm tired--tired."
"You must not talk any more."
"Yes, I must. I have things to say. You are holding my hand tight,
Annette?"
"Yes. Look, I have it safe in mine."
"I ought not to have brought you here. You were in despair, and I took
advantage of it. Can you forgive me,