"Since you have been yachting with the Duke of Rotherhithe," I said, when we had gained the deck, "it is only fair to suppose that you are a good sailor, Countess?"
"Oh, yes!" she answered, with a little laugh; "I am an excellent sailor. But—forgive my asking the question—how did you become aware of my identity?"
"I happened to hear your name at the hotel this morning," I replied. "It was told me after I had restored the bangle you so nearly lost."
At this moment her father put in an appearance and caused a diversion by enquiring after the safety of her jewel-case, which, it appeared, stood in continual danger of being lost. A few seconds later the boat was under weigh and we had said good-bye to French soil. As we left the place of embarkation it seemed to me that my companion gave a little sigh, and noticing that it was followed by a slight shiver, I enquired whether she felt cold. She replied in the negative, though at the same time she drew her furs a little closer round her.
"I wonder whether certain places affect you as they do me," she said, when the French port lay well astern and we were heading for the white cliffs of England. "It is strange that I never leave Calais without undergoing a decided feeling of depression. I don't know why it should be so; it is a fact, nevertheless."
"I hope it is not the thought of visiting England that causes it?" I replied with an attempt at jocularity. "You have visited our country before, of course?"
"Very often," she answered; "we have many friends in England."
"In the list of whom I hope you will permit me some day to number myself?" I continued with an eagerness that was not at all usual with me.
"I shall be very pleased," she returned quietly, and then looked away across the still water to where a French pilot cutter lay becalmed half a mile or so away.