"Well," she sighed, "perhaps it will be the easiest way of getting rid of you."
She motioned him to follow her. The butler, from a discreet distance, watched her as though he were looking at a strange thing. Round the corner of the villa remote from the winter-garden, was a long stone terrace upon which many windows opened. Screened from the wind, the sun here was of almost midsummer strength. There was no sound. The great house seemed asleep. There was nothing but the droning of a few insects. Even the birds were songless. The walls were covered with drooping clematis and roses, roses that twined over the balustrades. Below them was a tangle of mimosa trees and rhododendrons, and further below still the blue Mediterranean. She sank into a chair.
"You may sit here," she said, "just long enough for me to convince you that your coming was a mistake. Indeed that is so. I do not wish to seem foolish or unkind, but my father and I are living here with one unbreakable rule, and that is that we make no acquaintances whatsoever."
"That sounds rather queer," he remarked. "Don't you find it dull?"
"If I do," she went on, "it is only for a little time. My father is here for a certain purpose, and as soon as that is accomplished we shall go away. For him to accomplish that purpose in a satisfactory manner, it is necessary that we should live as far apart as possible from the ordinary visitors here."
"Sounds like a riddle," he admitted. "Do you mind telling me of what nationality you are?"
"I see no reason why I should tell you anything."
"You speak such correct English," he continued, "but there is just a little touch of accent. You don't know how attractive it sounds. You don't know—"
He hesitated, suddenly losing some part of his immense confidence.
"What else is there that I do not know?" she asked, with a faintly amused smile.