He thought that he understood the
cause and presently sought to relieve her anxiety by suggesting that
she set him down somewhere along the Rue de Rivoli. She flushed
painfully.
"Thank you, Mr. Schmidt, I--are you sure you will not mind?"
"May I ask what it is that you are afraid of, Miss Guile?" he
inquired seriously.
She was lowering her veil. "I am not afraid, Mr. Schmidt," she said.
"I am a very, very guilty person, that's all. I've done something I
ought not to have done, and I'm--I'm ashamed. You don't consider me a
bold, silly--"
"Good Lord, no!" he cried fervently.
"Then why do you call me Bedelia?" she asked, shaking her head.
"If you feel that way about it, I--I humbly implore you to overlook
my freshness," he cried in despair.
"Will you get out here, Mr. Schmidt?" She pressed a button and the
car swung alongside the curb.
"When am I to see you again?" he asked, holding out his hand. She
gave it a firm, friendly grip and said:
"I am going to Switzerland the day after tomorrow. Good-bye."
In a sort of daze, he walked up the Rue Castiliogne to the Place
Vendome.
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