The dark eyes were dancing with amusement.
"You are under the impression that I am not English?" she asked.
"Well, there is a certain grace," Geoffrey stammered, "that spoke of——"
"Foreign blood. Precisely. But all the same, I am proud to call myself an Englishwoman. My name is Mrs. May—Mona May. You are Mr. Geoffrey Ravenspur."
"At your service. I had the pleasure of seeing you the other morning in Mrs. Jessop's kitchen. Meanwhile, to prevent any further trouble from our predatory friend, I am going to walk with you as far as the farm."
Mrs. May raised no objection; on the contrary, she seemed pleased with the idea. She was dangerous, she was mixed up in some way with the conspiracy against the peace and happiness of the house of Ravenspur, and yet Geoffrey found it hard to resist her fascinations.
She spoke almost perfect English, her dress, and style and manner were insular, but there was a flashing grace about her, a suggestion of something warm and Eastern, that gleamed and flashed in spite of her cycling dress and the wheel she pushed along so skillfully.
She gave a sigh of regret as the farmhouse was reached.
"Well, I suppose we must part," she said. "Really, it seems years since I spoke to a gentleman and I have only been here for days. I have been ordered absolute rest and quietness for the benefit of my health and, upon my word, I am getting it. Would you take pity upon my loneliness and come to tea?"
Many an older man than Geoffrey had been excused from yielding to such a request. Those eyes were so dark and pleading, and the man was young. Besides, he had an excuse. Had not his uncle Ralph planned this thing and was it not intended to bring about an introduction! Besides, once inside that room, it might be possible to find something that in the future would yield great results.