"Don't trust him.

He suspects everything!" "What?
Everything about what ?" she asked.
Simonds gazed at her for a moment with a singular expression.

There were conjoined cynicism, admiration, doubt, and fear in his glance.

But, instead of speaking again, he bowed and slipped away into the open hall.
She heard him call, and she heard Fernand's oily voice make answer.

And at that she shivered.
What had Simonds guessed?
How, under heaven, did he know where she had gone when she left the gaming house?
Or did he know?
Had he not merely guessed?
Perhaps he had been set on by Fernand or Mark to entangle and confuse her?
There remained, out of all this confusion of guesswork, a grim feeling that Simonds did indeed know, and that, for the first time in his life, perhaps, he was doing an unbought, a purely generous thing.
She remembered, now, how often Simonds had followed her with his eyes, how often his face had lighted when she spoke even casually to him.