She hesitated.
“I might,” she agreed doubtfully, “but I am afraid it would be scarcely worth while asking you to wait.”
“Nonsense. I have nothing to do,” he replied cheerfully. “Jump in and I’ll drive you to the gate.”
“I’d rather you waited at the corner,” she begged. “I’ll come back and tell you, anyway.”
Mr. Johnson obeyed instructions. He drew up at the point where a by-road curved around to his own and the Little House and on to a chain of rather remote villages, descended and glanced into his petrol tank, lit a cigarette and settled down to wait. In a few minutes Miss Besant reappeared. He was conscious of a measure of disappointment which rather puzzled him when he saw that she was still without gloves or coat. Nevertheless there was a slightly eager expression in her face.
“Madame has surprised me very much,” she announced, as she paused by the side of the car. “She seems willing for me to go, but she would like to speak to you first.”
“Delighted,” Mr. Johnson replied, preparing to alight. “I proposed myself as a visitor yesterday, as you may remember.”
The young woman nodded.
“For some reason or another,” she confided, “Madame is very curious about you. Directly I mentioned your name and said that you were outside, she told me to fetch you in. Please be careful what you say to her. She is very peculiar and every one humours her. Whilst you are talking I shall get my coat and gloves.”
“I’ll do my best,” he promised her, as he held open the gate. “Don’t keep me too long. I can foresee that conversation with Madame will be difficult. I hope she knows that I have lived abroad for a long time and am unused to ladies’ society.”