“Where are you going?” she asked curiously. “Why can't I come with you?”
“I am going where I cannot take you,” was the firm reply. “I told you that before I started.”
“I shall sit here and wait for you,” she decided. “I rather like the neighbourhood. There is a gentleman in shirt-sleeves, leaning over the rail of the roof there, who has his eye on me. I believe I shall be a success here—which is more than I can say of a little further westwards.”
Sir Timothy smiled slightly. He had exchanged his hat for a tweed cap, and had put on a long dustcoat.
“There is no gauge by which you may know the measure of your success,” he said. “If there were—”
“If there were?” she asked, leaning a little forward and looking at him with a touch of the old brilliancy in her eyes.
“If there were,” he said, with a little show of mock gallantry, “a very jealously-guarded secret might escape me. I think you will be quite all right here,” he continued. “It is an open thoroughfare, and I see two policemen at the corner. Hassell, my chauffeur, too, is a reliable fellow. We will be back within the hour.”
“We?” she repeated.
He indicated a man who had silently made his appearance during the conversation and was standing waiting on the sidewalk.
“Just a companion. I do not advise you to wait. If you insist—au revoir!”