WHITEWASH
ror. She flushed crimson with mortification and rage.
She was loath to admit it, but she had bungled, bungled fearfully. And worst of all, what must Valdeck think of her! She had talked too much for either his plans or hers. And she began to realize in what dangerous places she had spread her fatal information. She had left her tracks uncovered. She moaned aloud and twisted anew, recalling a thousand insinuations she had let fall, a thousand confidences rawly made. She had committed herself, and must take the blame or openly throw it on Valdeck—where it belonged. Here she buried her face in the pillow in agony. She could not do that; she must shield him.
The one spark of womanhood in her false and selfish nature was awake at last in his service. She loved him! She knew it now! Loved him! loved him!
She lay still for some moments, buried in a blissful misery. Then she shivered convulsively. And what of her dinner with him at Gagano's? She had been seen—by whom? Mrs. Durham had the story straight enough. But Valdeck
