“Well,” said the girl, “there was to have been a sort of Mothers’ Welfare Meeting in Paris next week—an International affair—and when we were in Madeira she received an invitation to attend with a free return ticket—wasn’t that splendid?”
“Splendid,” said Timothy absently. “Naturally you thought it was an excellent opportunity to go also.”
The girl nodded.
“And now you have arrived here you find that the Mothers’ Welfare Meeting has been postponed for ten years?”
She looked at him, startled.
“How did you know that the meeting had been postponed?” she asked.
“Oh, I guessed it,” he said airily, “such things have happened before.”
“The truth is,” said the girl, “nobody knows anything about this meeting, and the letter which Mrs. Renfrew sent to the Mothers’ Welfare Society in Paris was waiting for us when we arrived at the Carlton. It had been returned—‘Addressee Unknown.’ Mrs. Renfrew had put the Carlton address inside.”
Here was ample excuse for speculation of an innocuous kind. Mrs. Renfrew had been approached because it was known by this mysterious somebody that she would take the girl with her, and this sinister somebody had hired two thugs to shepherd her from Madeira and to put Timothy out of action, should he decide to accompany the party to France. The situation was distinctly interesting.
Three days later the party crossed the Channel. Timothy had high hopes of adventure, which were fated to be more than fulfilled. They stayed three days in Paris and he had the time of his life. He went to the races at Maisons Lafitte, and came back glowing with a sense of his virtue, for he had not made a bet. He drifted in to the baccara rooms at Enghien, watched tens of thousands of francs change hands, and returned to Paris that night with a halo fitted by Mary’s own hands.