But Chris was in no way cast down. She had carefully planned out her line of action, and the more she thought over it the more sure of success she felt. A few hours more and—but she didn't care to dwell too closely on that.
It was after luncheon that Chris's opportunity came. Lord Littimer and Grace Rawlins had gone off to inspect something especially beautiful in the way of a waterfall, leaving Chris and Rawlins alone. The latter was talking brilliantly over his cigarette.
"Is Lord Littimer any relation of yours?" he asked.
"Well, yes," Chris admitted. "I hope he will be a nearer relation before long."
"Oh, you mean to say—may I venture to congratulate—"
"It isn't quite that," Chris laughed, with a little rising in colour. "I am not thinking of Lord Littimer, but of his son…. Yes, I see you raise your eyebrows—probably you are aware of the story, as most people are. And you are wondering why I am on such friendly terms with Lord Littimer under the circumstances. And I am wondering why you should call yourself John Smith."
The listener coolly flicked the ash from his cigarette. His face was like a mask.
"John Smith is a good name," he said. "Can you suggest a better?"
"If you ask me to do so I can. I should call myself John Rawlins."
There was just the ghost of a smile on Rawlins's lips.