THE TOUCHSTONE
occurred to him that Flamel was the kind of man who might very well please a woman at his own expense, without need of fortuitous assistance. If this possibility cleared the outlook it did not brighten it. Glennard merely felt himself left alone with his baseness.
Alexa left the breakfast-table before him, and when he went up to the drawing-room he found her dressed to go out.
"Aren't you a little early for church?" he asked. She replied that, on the way there, she meant to stop a moment at her mother's; and while she drew on her gloves he fumbled among the knick-knacks on the mantelpiece for a match to light his cigarette.
"Well, good-bye," she said, turning to go; and from the threshold she added: "By the way, I've sorted the papers you gave me. Those that I thought you would like to keep are on your study table." She went downstairs and he heard the door close behind her.
She had sorted the papers—she knew, then—she must know—and she had made no sign!
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