“What suspicion?”
“Why, that chess represents my poor wits, and that I live upon them.”
Audrey tinkled with laughter. “I never guessed I was such a serpent. But I am afraid I was only thinking of the dullness of it. To sit for ten minutes looking at a board, and then to move a pawn a single inch on it! Ugh! By that time I should be screaming for ‘Grab.’”
“Let us play ‘Grab’ one night,” said the Baron gaily.
They drove on by the pleasant lanes, and presently came out into the High road near Wildshott. As they passed the wicket in the hedge, a gleam of something, quickly seen and quickly withdrawn among the green beyond, caught Le Sage’s attention. He laid a hand on the reins, suggesting a halt.
“Was that a private way to the house?” he asked. “—there, where the little gate stood?”
Audrey told him yes. That it was called the Bishop’s Walk, and that he might lift the latch and go by it if he pleased. She twinkled as she spoke, and the Baron looked roguish.
“Inquisitive?” said he; “I admit it, if it is the word for an inquiring mind. But not conceited, I hope. I am going to explore.”
He was out in the road, to the dancing relief of the governess-cart springs, and waved au revoir to his companion. She nodded, and drove on, while he turned to go back to the wicket. He hummed as he went, a little philandering French air, droning the words in a soft, throaty way, and was still recalling them as he mounted the two steps from the road, opened the gate, and passed through. His eyes, moving in an immobile face, were busy all the time. “Dites moi, belle enchanteresse,” he sang, “Qui donc vous a donné vos yeux?” just above his breath and suddenly, at a few yards in, eighteen or twenty, swerved from the close narrow track and stepped behind a beech-trunk. And there was a girl hiding from view, her eyes wide, her forefinger crooked to her lip.
“Vos doux yeux, si pleins de tendresse,” hummed M. le Baron, and nodded humorously. “I thought I recognised you from the road.”