Evelyn lay back in her steamer-chair, looking out over the glistening water and idly watching the white-caps far out at sea. She felt, rather than saw, Grahame approach. When she turned to him, smiling, he was close beside her, leaning against the rail. His pose was virile, and his expression marked by the quiet alertness she had learned to know. It suggested resolution, self-reliance, and power of command. These qualities were not obtrusively indicated, but Evelyn recognized them and wondered how much he owed to his being a Grahame of Calder Hall. Hereditary influences must be reckoned on.
"This is the first chance I've had to see you alone," he said. "I want to thank you for your help at the International."
"Was it useful?"
"Very useful. Your quickness and resourcefulness were surprising."
"That's a doubtful compliment," she laughed. "To me the affair was quite exciting. To feel that you're engaged in a conspiracy gives you a pleasant thrill."
"I wonder!" Grahame remarked rather grimly. "But may I ask——"
"Oh, I can't dissect the impulses that prompted me. No doubt, the hint of intrigue was attractive—and perhaps friendship counted too."
"And you took the excellence of my intentions on trust?"
"Well, there really was no time to question you, and judge if they were good. As a matter of fact, I'm no wiser now."
"No," he said. "On the whole, I think it's better that you shouldn't know."