“Ah! have no fear; I am discreet. You are magnificent! You have a superb courage, but, all the same, it was I who gave you the idea that day, when I said to you in London that accidents sometimes happened. And you are not in danger? The police do not suspect you?”
“What the devil—”
“Hush!”
She held up a slim olive hand with one big emerald on the little finger.
“You are right; I should not have spoken so in a public place. We will not speak of the matter again, but our troubles are ended; our life together will be wonderful—wonderful!”
Derek laughed suddenly—a harsh, disagreeable laugh.
“So the rats come back, do they? Two million makes a difference—of course it does. I ought to have known that.” He laughed again. “You will help me to spend that two million, won’t you, Mirelle? You know how, no woman better.” He laughed again.
“Hush!” cried the dancer. “What is the matter with you, Derek? See—people are turning to stare at you.”
“Me? I will tell you what is the matter. I have finished with you, Mirelle. Do you hear? Finished!”
Mirelle did not take it as he expected her to do. She looked at him for a minute or two, and then she smiled softly.
“But what a child! You are angry—you are sore, and all because I am practical. Did I not always tell you that I adored you?”
She leaned forward.