he felt keenly, for some reason or other, the appeal she was
making to him, "must I say again that I had nothing whatever to do
with it? I have sent for Mr. Kennedy and---"

"Nothing--on your honour?" she asked, facing him squarely.

"Nothing--on my honour," he asserted frankly.

She appeared to be dazed. Apparently all along she had assumed
that Carton must be the person to see, that he alone could do
anything for her, would do something.

Her face paled as she met his earnest look. She had risen and now,
half chagrined, half frightened, she stood irresolute. Her lips
quivered and tears stood in her eyes as she realized that, instead
of protecting herself by her confidence, she had, perhaps, made
matters worse by telling an outsider.

Carton, too, had risen and in a low voice which we could not
overhear was trying to reassure her.

In her confusion she was moving toward the door, utterly
oblivious, now, to us. Carton tactfully took her arm and led her
to a private entrance that opened from his office down the
corridor and out of sight of the watchful eyes of the reporters
and attendants in the outer hall.

I did not understand just what it was all about, but I could see
Kennedy's eye following Carton keenly.