"No, I didn't mention it," I said. (No wonder, when I hadn't even thought of it until this minute!) "But I—I meant to. I'd made up my mind to go to 'Pergolas,' the Duchess of Stane's place on the river; you must have seen it when you were working for Robert Lorillard."
It was the first time I'd uttered his name since that impulsive break at the luncheon table, over a fortnight ago now!
Whether or not her face blushed I couldn't see in the twilight, but her voice blushed as she said:
"Oh, yes! I've seen—the gates. Surely the duchess isn't there at this time of the year?"
"She generally takes a 'rest cure' of a week or two at Pergolas this month. It's perfect peace, and you know how dreamlike the river is in autumn."
"I—know," Joyce murmured. "The woods all golden, and mists like creamy veils across the blue distance. I know!"
There was a passion of suppressed longing and regret in her tone.
"Wouldn't you like to go with me?" I coaxed. "It's such lovely country for a spin. And—I've never been there; but I suppose we must pass close to Robert Lorillard's cottage? We go through Stanerton village. We could stop and see if he's still at home, or if he's gone——"
"No—no, thank you, Princess," Joyce said, hastily, "I don't—care very much for motoring. If you're to be away to-morrow I'll get through some mending, and some letters of my own."
I didn't argue. I should have been surprised if she'd accepted. It would have made the thing commonplace. And it would have upset my plan. I can't call it a "deep-laid plan," because I'd laid it on no firmer foundation than the spur of the moment; but I was wildly excited about it. Fully armoured like Minerva it had leapt into my brain while I said to myself, "What if——?"