never talked about anything but ourselves. You know what I mean: there was nothing we were interested in but each other. We were simply—”
“Can’t you even make a guess at where she came from, who she was?”
“No. Those things didn’t matter to me. She was Jeanne Delano, and that was enough for me.”
“Did you and she ever have any financial interests in common? I mean, was there ever any transaction in money or other valuables in which both of you were interested?”
What I meant, of course, was had she got into him for a loan, or had she sold him something, or got money out of him in any other way.
He jumped to his feet, and his face went fog-grey. Then he sat down again—slumped down—and blushed scarlet.
“Pardon me,” he said thickly. “You didn’t know her, and of course you must look at the thing from all angles. No, there was nothing like that. I’m afraid you are going to waste time if you are going to work on the theory that she was an adventuress. There was nothing like that! She was a girl with something terrible hanging over her; something that called her to Baltimore suddenly; something that has taken her away from me. Money? What could money have to do with it? I love her!”