"I know nothing," she replied. "His presence does not interest me."
"Supposing I desire you to know?" he persisted, leaning a little forward. "Supposing I tell you that it is your duty to know?"
"Then," she said, "I should tell you that I believe him to be the special envoy from New York to The Hague, or whatever place on the Continent this coming conference is to be held at."
"Right, woman!" Mr. Fentolin answered sharply. "Right! It is the special envoy. He has his mandate with him. I have them both - the man and his mandate. Can you guess what I am going to do with them?"
"It is not difficult," she replied. "Your methods are scarcely original. His mandate to the flames, and his body to the sea!"
She raised her eyes as she spoke and looked over Mr. Fentolin's shoulder, across the marshland to the grey stretch of ocean. Her eyes became fixed. It was not possible to say that they held any expression, and yet one felt that she saw beneath the grey waves, even to the rocks and caverns below.
"It does not terrify you, then," he asked curiously, "to think that a man under this roof is about to die?"
"Why should it?" she retorted. "Death does not frighten me - my own or anybody else's. Does it frighten you?"
His face was suddenly livid, his eyes full of fierce anger. His lips twitched. He struck the table before him.
"Beast of a woman!" he shouted. "You ghoul! How dare you! How dare you -"
He stopped short. He passed his hand across his forehead. All the time the woman remained unmoved.
"Do you know," he muttered, his voice still shaking a little, "that I believe sometimes I am afraid of you? How would you like to see me there, eh, down at the bottom of that hungry sea? You watch sometimes so fixedly. You'd miss me, wouldn't you? I am a good master, you know. I pay well. You've been with me a good many years. You were a different sort of woman when you first came."
"Yes," she admitted, "I was a different sort of woman."
"You don't remember those days, I suppose," he went on, "the days when you had brown hair, when you used to carry roses about and sing to yourself while you beat your work out of that wretched typewriter?"
"No," she answered, "I do not remember those days. They do not belong to me. It is some other woman you are thinking of."
Their eyes met. Mr. Fentolin turned away first. He struck the bell at his elbow. She rose at once.
"Be off!" he ordered. "When you look at me like that, you send shivers through me! You'll have to go; I can see you'll have to go.
I can't keep you any longer. You are the only person on the face of the earth who dares to say things to me which make me think, the only person who doesn't shrink at the sound of my voice. You'll have to go. Send Sarson to me at once. You've upset me!"
She listened to his words in expressionless silence. When he had finished, carrying her book in her hand, she very quietly moved towards the door. He watched her, leaning a little forward in his chair, his lips parted, his eyes threatening. She walked with steady, even footsteps. She carried herself with almost machine-like erectness; her skirts were noiseless. She had the trick of turning the handle of the door in perfect silence. He heard her calm voice in the hall.
"Doctor Sarson is to go to Mr. Fentolin."
Mr. Fentolin sat quite still, feeling his own pulse.
"That woman," he muttered to himself, "that -woman - some day I shouldn't be surprised if she really -"
He paused. The doctor had entered the room.
"I am upset, Sarson," he declared. "Come and feel my pulse quickly.
That woman has upset me."
"Miss Price?"
"Miss Price, d-n it! Lucy - yes!"
"It seems unlike her," the doctor remarked. "I have never heard her utter a useless syllable in my life."
Mr. Fentolin held out his wrist.
"It's what she doesn't say," he muttered.
The doctor produced his watch. In less than a minute he put it away.
"This is quite unnecessary," he pronounced. "Your pulse is wonderful."
"Not hurried? No signs of palpitation?"
"You have seven or eight footmen, all young men," Doctor Sarson replied drily. "I will wager that there isn't one of them has a pulse so vigorous as yours."
Mr. Fentolin leaned a little back in his chair. An expression of satisfaction crept over his face.
"You reassure me, my dear Sarson. That is excellent. What of our patient?"
"There is no change."
"I am afraid," Mr. Fentolin sighed, "that we shall have trouble with him. These strong people always give trouble."
"It will be just the same in the long run," the doctor remarked, shrugging his shoulders.
Mr. Fentolin held up his finger.
"Listen! A motor-car, I believe?"
"It is Miss Fentolin who is just arriving," the doctor announced.
"I saw the car coming as I crossed the hall."
Mr. Fentolin nodded gently.
"Indeed?" he replied. "Indeed? So my dear niece has returned.
Open the door, friend Sarson. Open the door, if you please. She will be anxious to see me. We must summon her."
