Joyselle frowned. "To—Piccadilly. I'll tell you when we get to where I wish to stop."
Brigit suppressed a smile. Now he was thinking, she saw, that he would tell her of his intended departure before he gave the Cunard Company's address.
He was pale, but to her surprise looked younger rather than older than usual. His mental disturbance had left traces on his face, and they were, as it was, young in their nature. He had fallen in love, and the youth in him, both physical and mental, flared up responsively to the call of the emotion.
Suddenly she saw her line of action clearly marked out for her, and without an instant's hesitation took it. If he suspected that she loved him, nothing in the world could keep him by her. So he must not know. In all her dreams and reflections about their relations, she had never taken into account the possibility of things turning out as they had. She had always tacitly taken for granted that it would be by her will that the man should be waked up to the real state of his own mind. Even after the evening of the dragon-skin frock he had not known the real explanation of his amazement on her entrance, and had, she knew, merely advanced in his perilous path to the point of realising that she was, although his future daughter, an amazingly desirable woman.
So far she had read him correctly. But that something outside her own personal sway should open his eyes she had not anticipated.
This had, however, happened, and with the acute intuition of a woman fighting for her life, she understood what she must do to prevent his flight.
So, turning towards him, she smiled amusedly.
"Eh, b'en, Beau-papa? Got over your fright? You big baby!"
He stared, and she went on without a pause, but speaking slowly, to give an idea of leisure, "To think that you of all people should be afraid of thunder! It was lucky you had your valorous daughter to shield you."
He gave a short, nervous laugh. "Yes, it is very idiotic, I know, but——"