"Is he, Miss?" she asked fearfully.
"At Grandpont," I went on. "Madame Dupoirier told me about it last night. She was at Grandpont station in the 'bus yesterday. He read the name of the hotel, and asked Madame if you were here."
As usual, Susan's colour rushed back, with reinforcements. She began to tremble.
"It's that flower, Miss!" she gasped, "Georgette's flower! Oh, Miss Gertrude, I can't face him yet! I can't, I can't!"
"You don't need to, Susan," I said. "It isn't Lord Ruddington."
Susan moaned a little moan of thankfulness. But her face clouded again as I added:
"It is somebody else."
She searched my eyes. Then she asked, in an agonized whisper:
"Not ... It isn't ... Not Gibson, Miss?"
"Yes," I answered, "Gibson."