There was a curious expression on his face--an expression of revolt, almost of anger.
"Do you exact it ?" he repeated, almost violently.
And Sylvia faltered out, "Could you keep your word if I did exact it ?" "Ah, you have learnt to know me too well!" He walked away, leaving her full of perplexity and pain.
A few moments passed.

They seemed very long moments to Sylvia Bailey.
Then Count Paul turned and came back.
He sat down, and made a great effort to behave as if nothing unusual or memorable had passed between them.
"And has anything happened here ?" he asked.

"Is there any news of your vanished friend ?" Sylvia shook her head gravely.

The Polish woman's odd, and, to her, inexplicable, conduct still hurt her almost as much as it had done at first.
The Count leant forward, and speaking this time very seriously indeed, he said, in a low voice:-- "I wish to say something to you, and I am now going to speak as frankly as if you were--my sister.

You are wrong to waste a moment of your time in regretting Madame Wolsky.