Lisle looked at her searchingly.
“Since he found Gladwyne out?”
“Oh,” she answered, seeing that she had been incautious, “he rather idolized the man, and I suppose it was painful to discover by accident that he wasn’t quite all he thought him. Now, however, he has transferred his homage to you—I’m afraid Jim must always have somebody to prop him—but I’ve no misgivings.”
Lisle laughed.
“I’ve seldom had the time to get into mischief; I suppose that accounts for a good deal.”
They were nearing the lodge and she stopped and held out her hand.
“It’s hard to say good-by; you have helped me more than you’ll ever guess, and you won’t be forgotten.” Then as he held her hand with signs of embarrassment she laughed with something of her usual mocking manner and suddenly drew away. “Good-by,” she added. “I was rather daring once and I suppose you were shocked. I can’t repeat the rashness—it would mean more now.”
She walked back toward the house, and he went on. Half an hour later he met Millicent, who stopped to greet him.
“I was on my way to call on you for the last time,” he told her.
There was something in his voice that troubled her, and, though she had expected it, she shrank from the intimation of his departure.