She shook her head.
"Close the window and bolt it, please," she begged. "Draw the curtains tight. Now come and sit down here for a moment."
He did as he was bidden with some reluctance.
"The man was a villainous-looking creature," he persisted. "I don't think that he was up to any good. Look! There's a policeman almost opposite. Shall I go and tell him?"
She put out her hand and clasped his, drawing him down to her side. Then she looked steadfastly into his face.
"Mr. Chetwode," she said slowly, "women have many disadvantages in life, but they have had one gift bestowed upon them in which they trust always. It is the gift of instinct. You are very young, and I know very little about you, but I know that you are to be trusted."
"If I could serve you," he murmured,—
"You can," she interrupted.
Then for a time she was silent. Some new emotion seemed to move her. Her face was softer than he had ever seen it, her beautiful eyes dimmer. His mind was filled with new thoughts of her.
"Mrs. Weatherley," he pleaded, "please do believe in me, do trust me. I mean absolutely what I say when I tell you there is nothing in the world I would not do to save you from trouble or alarm."