The young man leaned forward. His hand was upon the door.
“Let me get out,” he said sullenly.
“With pleasure—presently,” Wingrave answered. “I can assure you that I am not anxious to detain you longer than necessary. Only you must first answer my question.”
“I want to speak to her! I shall follow her about until I can!” the young man declared.
Wingrave glanced at him with a faint derisive smile. His clothes were worn and shabby, he was badly in need of a shave and a wash. He sat hunched up in a corner of the carriage, the picture of mute discomfort and misery.
“Do you know who she is?” Wingrave asked.
“Mademoiselle Violet!” the young man answered.
“You are mistaken,” Wingrave answered. “She is Lady Ruth Barrington, wife of Lumley Barrington and daughter of the Earl of Haselton.”
The young man was unmoved.
“She is Mademoiselle Violet,” he declared.