“And I,” said the girl quickly, “am known as Spring. No ‘Miss,’ or anything. Just Spring.”
Before he could answer, she was at the head of the stairs.
As he opened the great front-door—
“Good-bye, Spring,” said Willoughby.
My lady flung him a bewitching smile.
“Good-bye, Captain Bagot. D’you think you’ll know me next time?”
“Yes,” said Willoughby. “Even if you have your hair down.”
He watched her rejoin her companions, triumphantly waving her bag.
“The Stacks had a daughter,” he murmured. “But she used to wear blue glasses because of her sight. Besides, you don’t find paid companions worth seven million pounds.”
This was quite true. Moreover, his memory was at fault. Mr. and Mrs. Stack had died childless. The whole of their fortune had been left to a beloved niece.