THE YELLOW DOVE
greatcoat, and carrying a rug. He took off his cap with an air of deference, which answered at once some of her questions. She rose and faced him, her color high.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked, trying to keep her lips from trembling.
He smiled and pulled at his mustache.
“First, I hope you’ll give me a chance to explain.”
“What?” she cried hotly. “What can you explain? Don’t you suppose I know what you are? A German spy, a traitor to England, and worse than that—a woman-baiter and a coward, Mr. Rizzio.”
He bent his head.
“I make no defense,” he said, “except necessity.” And then gravely indicating the chair from which she had risen. “Won’t you sit down? The voyage may be long.”
But she still stood.
“I am a prisoner, not a guest.”
“Then I command you to sit,” he said with a laugh. “Won’t you?”
A sound of exasperation came from her throat and she obeyed him, her gaze on the sea, while with some ostentation he covered her with a rug.
“What are you going to do with me in Germany?” she repeated dully.
He sank into the chair beside her. “As I have often told you, you are a woman of rare intelligence. In reply I can only say that, unfortunately, I do not know.”
“A coward who is also a—a liar,” she said bitterly.
“A coward is usually a liar, but a liar isn’t always a coward. I am a liar, Doris, if you will, but a courageous one.”
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