“‘Is she subject to nervous headaches?’ I asked, playing for time. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. She doesn’t in the least look it.’
“‘Oh, no,’ she answered quickly, ‘she’s not at all subject to them; but occasionally, when she’s overworked herself’
“The sentence trailed off into nothingness. I saw that she wasn’t thinking of what she was saying, and when she glanced down into the street again, I began to get an inkling of the real state of affairs. I was a little ashamed of the part I was playing, but I determined to brazen it out. If Miss Croydon had gone out alone on a night like this, I had a right to know it. Why should she make a mystery of it? What was there in her errand that needed to be concealed from me?
“Mrs. Delroy was looking at me anxiously. Finally she took the bull by the horns.
“‘I really must be going upstairs,’ she said. ‘You’ll excuse me?’
“‘Certainly. Is Mr. Delroy here?’
“‘No; he’s out of town to-day,’ and she made another movement toward the door.
“I didn’t see how I was going to hang on any longer without being absolutely rude; I gave it up in despair. After all, I could wait outside the house. Then, suddenly, I realised that I was acting like a cad—I had no right to play the spy—but there was something back of it all—some mystery—which worried and puzzled me. But perhaps it was only my fancy—why should Mrs. Delroy deceive me? I was playing the fool—I had no right to suspect…
