"At last," she admitted, "I am going to tell you that I have it!"
"And to name your price?" he asked.
There was a queer little sound in her throat, like an unnatural laugh. "My price! Yes, that is another matter!"
CHAPTER XII
A STRANGE BETROTHAL
Southward, through the country lanes whose hedges were still wreathed with late honeysuckle, on to the great mainroad, Deane's car was driven through the night,—always southward, till the lights of the great city flared before them up into the sky. Deane himself, for hour after hour, had sat back in his corner, buried in thought. His companion was even more invisible, but as the end of the journey drew near he roused himself with an effort, turned on the electric light which hung down from the roof of the car, lit a cigarette, and, bending forward, looked into the half-hidden face of the girl who was reclining by his side.
"My dear fiancée," he said, "we are nearing London. Won't you rouse yourself and give me your further orders?"
She sat up, with a little yawn. "Let down the windows, please," she said. "We will have some fresh air in for a few minutes."
He obeyed her at once. The sweet midnight air through which they were rushing was like a douche of cold water upon her face.