How small was her
knowledge, for instance, of Bill Chester--though, to be sure, of him
there was perhaps nothing to know. How really little also she knew of
Anna Wolsky! They had become friends, and yet Anna had never confided to
her any intimate or secret thing about herself. Why, she did not even
know Anna's home address!
Sylvia felt that there was now a link which hardly anything could break
between herself and this Frenchman, whom she had never seen till a week
ago. Even if they never met again after to-day, she would never forget
that he had allowed her to see into the core of his sad, embittered
heart. He had lifted a corner of the veil which covered his conscience,
and he had done this in order that he might save her, a stranger, from
what he knew by personal experience to be a terrible fate!
CHAPTER VII
Two hours later Sylvia Bailey was having luncheon with Anna Wolsky in the
Pension Malfait.
The two hostelries, hers and Anna's, were in almost absurd contrast the
one to the other. At the Villa du Lac everything was spacious, luxurious,
and quiet.
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