Page:Gibbs--The yellow dove.djvu/117

 “One moment, please,” he said calmly. “You found those papers last night?”

“Yes,” she said coolly. “And if I did?”

He seemed to breathe more freely.

“I have nothing to say,” he muttered.

“Oh,” she said quickly, “I’m glad of that. You don’t deny?”

“I deny nothing,” he said with a shrug. “I see that it would be useless.”

“I’m glad you give me credit for that much intelligence,” she said scathingly. “You haven’t done so before.”

“It was not your intelligence,” he said gently, “so much as your heart that I had relied upon.”

“Oh, you thought I was a fool that you could use—indefinitely”

“No. I thought you were a woman that I could count on indefinitely.”

Something in the tone of his own voice made her turn and look at him.

“A woman—yes, but not an enemy of England.”

He was silent again, and when he spoke it was not to argue. His voice was subdued—shamed even it seemed.

“And now—I suppose you will give the—the papers to Sandys,” he said.

She examined him closely and pity for him seemed even stronger than shame.

“It is a part of our misunderstanding,” she said coolly, “that you should think so little of me. I have told you that I shall protect you. My hands shall be clean, if my heart isn’t.”

“What will you do with the papers?” he asked.

“This,” and she turned toward him—“burn them.”