She trembled. "To me?" Malachi!
"Yes—that is, if you'd like him. He talks. Wait." He fumbled about in a pocket. "Here's a little feather of his. It will give you an idea of what a brilliant color he has. May I give him to you?"
"Yes!" The blood whipped into her throat. The girl he saw in every port: what about her? Why didn't he offer the bird to her?... That feather! It wasn't humanly possible that he understood and was playing with her.
Truth is he was thousands of miles away from the message. But there were other roads to Rome; and he knew what he knew.
"Then I may come to tea day after to-morrow?"
"Yes," She turned away from the table. Upon reaching the curb she wheeled upon Mathison. "My car!" she cried, dismayed.
"What's the matter?"
"It isn't here!"
Mathison hailed the footman. "What has become of Miss Farrington's car?"