"She has just told Lady Moulton who I am," Simcoe said.
"She has a clever face, Simcoe—broad across the chin—any amount of determination, I should say. Ah! there, she is getting up to make room for somebody else."
"Stay where you are, my dear," Lady Moulton said, putting her hand on Hilda's arm; "there is plenty of room for three."
"Plenty," she replied; "but I want to watch those two men, and I cannot keep my glasses fixed on them while I am sitting in the front row."
"Hardly, my dear," Lady Moulton said with a smile. "Well, have your own way."
A fourth lady came in almost immediately. She took the third chair in the front, and Hilda, sitting half in the shade, was able to devote herself to her purpose free from general observation. She had already heard that Simcoe's companion had apparently suspected that he was watched, and had returned to town at once without speaking to anyone at Tilbury. She felt that he would probably henceforth choose some other route, and the chances of following him would be greatly diminished. The opportunity was a fortunate one indeed. For months she had been hoping that some day or other she could watch these men talking, and now, as it seemed by accident, just at the moment when her hopes had fallen, the chance had come to her.
"She has changed her place in order to have a better look at us," John Simcoe said, as she moved. "She has got her glasses on us."
"We came to stare at her. It seems to me that she is staring at us," Harrison said.
"Well, I should think that she knows my face pretty well by this time," Simcoe laughed. "I told you she has a way of looking through one that has often made me uncomfortable."
"I can quite understand that. I noticed myself that when she looked at us, without her glasses, there was a curious intentness in her expression, as if she was taking stock of every point about us. She cannot be the girl who has been to your lodging."