"Will you?" she murmured.
She drank her wine absently and set the glass down, and looked at him with a strange, passionate expression of doubt.
"Who knows?"
"What do you mean?" asked Basil.
"Who knows what you would do for me? Who knows what I am to you?"
"I know, pretty well, I should think. Try me. I don't think there's much I wouldn't do for you."
"Would you"
She stopped suddenly, made an impatient gesture, and said, "No—that's nothing. I won't say that."
"Won't say what? What is it? Say what you had in your mind."
She refused, but Basil pressed her eagerly. For some ten minutes she resisted, but at last she said:
"Oh, I'll tell you, then. All that came into my mind—that thing about—Mrs. Perry." The name cost her a slight effort. "And I started to ask if you would tell me now all about it. But I don't really care—that's why I stopped. It would make it seem too important to me. I don't care what happened—only tell me this, you didn't care about her?"
"I have told you—not an atom."
"Then she was a fool."
