"Judge for yourself," she replied. "Henri Graillot is there, waiting for me. You know how impatient he is, and all London is clamoring for his play. Night to him is just the same as day. I shall telegraph from Kendal the hour of my arrival."
The prince sighed.
"I think," he said quietly, "that I am the most unfortunate man in the world! At least, then, you will permit me to drive you to Kendal? I gather from your chauffeur that your car, although temporarily repaired, is not altogether reliable."
She answered him only after a slight hesitation. For some reason or other, his proposition did not seem wholly welcome.
"That will be very kind of you," she assented.
"If we start at once," the prince suggested, "we shall catch the Scotch mail."
"You will surely lunch first—and you, prince?" John begged.
She laid her hand upon his arm.
"My friend, no," she replied. "I am feverishly anxious to get back to London. Walk with me to the car. I will wave my adieus to Peak Hall when we are up among the hills."
She drew him on a few paces ahead.