She had scarcely expected to
have it snapped so soon and so thoroughly. She dropped her veil to hide
the tears which she felt were not far from her eyes, and summoned the
waiter for her bill. There seemed to be no object in staying longer.
Suddenly the unexpected happened.
A hand, flashing with jewels, was rested for a moment upon her table.
When it was withdrawn a scrap of paper remained there.
Phyllis looked up in amazement. The girl to whom the hand had belonged
was sitting at the next table, but her head was turned away, and she
seemed to be only concerned in watching the door. She drew the scrap of
paper towards her and cautiously opened it. This is what she read,
written in English, but with a foreign turn to most of the letters:--
"Monsieur Albert lied. Your brother was here. Wait till I
speak to you."
Instinctively she crumpled up this strange little note in her hand. She
struggled hard to maintain her composure. She had at once the idea that
every one in the place was looking at her. Monsieur Albert, indeed, on
his way down the room wondered what had driven the hopeless expression
from her face.
The waiter brought her bill.
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