"When she saw there was nothing doing, she went…. And then Winchester appeared with Patch, as I was putting her into her car. I remember he called her 'André'—that's how I knew her name…. And then he cursed me, because she was his fiancée, and she fairly tore him up. Then she chucked down his ring and drove off. There must have been a car leaving Bell Hammer just then. I can hear her changing the gears now." He passed a hand over his eyes. "I can't remember any more, except that Winchester was shouting…."
For a long moment the two sat very still. Then Valerie scrambled to her feet and put her head on one side. Her eyes were just dancing.
"You and your red-haired sirens," she said reproachfully. "And now come along, and I'll pick you a buttonhole."
The cloud poor Peter Every had found so menacing had discharged rain of pure gold. Love had emerged from the shower, refreshed, glistening. The two could not know that, while they passed down the steps into the sunlit flower-garden, a girl with auburn hair was pushing a frantic three-year-old through the Scotch mist of Donegal, and wondering at every bank whether she would have the good fortune to break her neck.
Still, though their rain be golden, clouds beget shadows. If Lyveden responded to Valerie's invitation, he did not rise to her mood. The throwback to Gramarye had set him thinking….
"Valerie," he said slowly, knitting his brows.
The girl had been upon the point of stopping to pick a rose. His serious tone, however, made her look up. The bloom was spared.
"Yes."
"When I went down—in November—there was something wrong. I mean, we were at variance."
With difficulty the girl repressed a shiver.