He thought therefore that his expression of
sympathy had been sufficient and could pass muster.
"I asked you to come," said Beatrice at last, "because I wanted your
help in a matter of importance to myself. I understand that you know a
person who calls herself Unorna, and who lives here."
Keyork's bright blue eyes scrutinized her face. He wondered how much she
knew.
"Very well indeed," he answered, as though not at all surprised.
"You know something of her life, then. I suppose you see her very often,
do you not?"
"Daily, I can almost say."
"Have you any objection to answering one question about her?"
"Twenty if you ask them, and if I know the answers," said Keyork,
wondering what form the question would take, and preparing to meet a
surprise with indifference.
"But will you answer me truly?"
"My dear lady, I pledge you my sacred word of honour," Keyork answered
with immense gravity, meeting her eyes and laying his hand upon his
heart.
"Does she love that man--or not?" Beatrice asked, suddenly showing him
the little miniature of the Wanderer, which she had taken from its case
and had hitherto concealed in her hand.
She watched every line of his face for she knew something of him, and
in reality put very little more faith in his word of honour than he did
himself, which was not saying much. But she had counted upon surprising
him, and she succeeded, to a certain extent.
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