“Oh, not that!” Darrow heard his own voice before he was aware that he meant to speak. “Yes; I did see her in Paris,” he went on after a pause; “but I was bound to respect her reason for not wanting it known.” Anna paled. “It was she at the theatre that night?” “I was with her at the theatre one night.” “Why should she have asked you not to say so?” “She didn’t wish it known that I’d met her.” “Why shouldn’t she have wished it known?” “She had quarrelled with Mrs. Murrett and come over suddenly to Paris, and she didn’t want the Farlows to hear of it. I came across her by accident, and she asked me not to speak of having seen her.” “Because of her quarrel? Because she was ashamed of her part in it?” “Oh, no. There was nothing for her to be ashamed of. But the Farlows had found the place for her, and she didn’t want them to know how suddenly she’d had to leave, and how badly Mrs. Murrett had behaved. She was in a terrible plight--the woman had even kept back her month’s salary. She knew the Farlows would be awfully upset, and she wanted more time to prepare them.” Darrow heard himself speak as though the words had proceeded from other lips. His explanation sounded plausible enough, and he half-fancied Anna’s look grew lighter. She waited a moment, as though to be sure he had no more to add; then she said: “But the Farlows DID know; they told me all about it when they sent her to me.” He flushed as if she had laid a deliberate trap for him. “They may know NOW; they didn’t then----” “That’s no reason for her continuing now to make a mystery of having met you.” “It’s the only reason I can give you.” “Then I’ll go and ask her for one myself.” She turned and took a few steps toward the door. “Anna!” He started to follow her, and then checked himself. “Don’t do that!” “Why not?” “It’s not like you ... not generous...” She stood before him straight and pale, but under her rigid face he saw the tumult of her doubt and misery. “I don’t want to be ungenerous; I don’t want to pry into her secrets. But things can’t be left like this. Wouldn’t it be better for me to go to her? Surely she’ll understand--she’ll explain... It may be some mere trifle she’s concealing: something that would horrify the Farlows, but that I shouldn’t see any harm in...” She paused, her eyes searching his face. “A love affair, I suppose ... that’s it? You met her with some man at the theatre--and she was frightened and begged you to fib about it? Those poor young things that have to go about among us like machines--oh, if you knew how I pity them!” “If you pity her, why not let her go?” She stared. “Let her go--go for good, you mean? Is that the best you can say for her?” “Let things take their course. After all, it’s between herself and Owen.” “And you and me--and Effie, if Owen marries her, and I leave my child with them! Don’t you see the impossibility of what you’re asking? We’re all bound together in this coil.”