“It is not ‘we’ Tony. It never will be ‘we’ again. And I—I cannot tell what I shall do yet. I must stay at the Residence of course until the police——” She stopped, her throat working. “Until I am free to go away,” she finished forlornly. “Then—then God knows what will become of me! I—I expect I shall live out of England if—if I can.”
“Yes,” said Anthony slowly. “Yes. But that will not be for ever. We are both young, and we can wait. And some day I will come and fetch you home again.”
“No, no!” The horror in the girl's eyes deepened. “Won't you understand, Tony? I shall never come back. I shall never be safe. From to-day I shall be dead to you! But—but wait, Tony. Sometimes I do not think that I shall get away—that I shall escape. For everywhere they follow me. Always I know that I am being watched. They will never let me go away. It is like a cat playing with a mouse. Just when the poor little mouse thinks at last it is safe, the blow falls. Even to-day—to-day—— Oh, Tony, look!” As she spoke, she sprang to her feet.
Anthony turned. At first sight there seemed nothing to account for her agitation—just a very ordinary-looking man coming towards them from the direction of the Broad Walk.
But as Tony looked he caught his breath sharply.
Cecily did not wait for him to speak.
“Stop him! Stop him!” she cried feverishly. “Don't let him come after me. Keep him here until I have got away!”
She sped down the path towards Lancaster Gate.
Anthony went forward to meet the new-comer.
“Good morning, Mr. Steadman,” he said, endeavouring to make his voice sound as natural as possible.