The valet stared at him doubtfully, and blankly said:
“Married, Sir Harold?”
“Yes, to the daughter of the man who saved my intellect, if not my life. I never want you to refer to the past, Stimson. That is over and done with—at least, that portion which brought me so much sorrow. I understand that I was infatuated with a cold-hearted, beautiful flirt, who is engaged to some other fellow already. There, that is done with. You may accompany me now, but I rely upon your absolute secrecy. I am not staying far from here, and you will be very useful, for my wardrobe is limited to what I have on my back!”
“The luggage is still at the London hotel, Sir Harold, and I waited there for you until I was penniless. Shall I fetch it away?” the valet asked.
“We will talk about that later, as I wish to arouse no suspicion. To everybody, for a time, I am to be plain Mr. Harold.”
“Yes, master; I shall not forget,” the half-hysterical Stimson replied.
Theresa was watching for her lover, and the dark rings under her eyes told of the anxiety she had endured.
The appearance of a stranger frightened her, and Sir Harold drew her aside, whispering:
“Poor little girl! How thoughtless of me to leave you so long without one word of explanation. But I did not intend going so far, Theresa, and then, my old valet recognized me, and I have engaged him to go with us on our wedding tour. I can see that he is trustworthy, and he is half-frantic with joy. Is there room for him in this little nest? If not, we must find him lodgings somewhere until we go away.”
“I think that we can manage, Harold,” Theresa said, happy tears standing in her eyes. “Oh, I was so frightened when I could not find you. I am always dreaming that I have lost you!”