He broke in upon her with a cry, the cry of a man who sees a glimmer of light through darkness.
“Three Star!” he cried.
Lady Wyndover stared at him open-eyed.
“Three Star! That place in Australia?”
He nodded excitedly.
“Of course! What an idiot I was not to think of it at once! That is where she has gone!” He tore out his watch, then groaned. “I was thinking that I had only to catch a train to overtake her. But she must be on the sea by this time!”
He paced up and down.
“Don’t speak to me for a minute or two.”
Lady Wyndover watched him in something like awed silence; the careless, light-hearted boy suddenly loomed before her—a man; and a man of resources, a man to be relied upon.
“She must be followed at once and overtaken!” he said. “Keep calm,” for Lady Wyndover had risen as if about to start for somewhere, anywhere, at that very moment. “Wire and ask Trafford to come to you at once. Where is a form?”