"No; but you'll tell me that."
"Maybe I will," he answered a trifle grimly, "when I come back."
She studied him. "You are very serious." She leaned a trifle nearer. "You are more serious, I think, than I ever saw you."
Napier smiled. In his heart he was thinking: "Before she is up in the morning, I shall be gone. On the errand that will end even her surface kindness to Greta's enemy. This is the last time. She will never again stand so near and look at me with those eyes of faith."
"Aren't you rather serious, too?" he asked.
She spoke through his question, impulsively, lifting her voice a little above the nearing thunder. "Lady McIntyre thinks you are going to see a lady."
He made his small effort at jocularity. "I must speak to Lady McIntyre."
"Are you such a fickle person?"
"Is that what they say?"
"They think you are fickle about women."