He shrugged his shoulders. “Politics and crime,� he said, “make strange companions. I’m feeling fit, now, and you’re ready to fight. Let’s go on to the nearest town, get some coffee and whatever else they have, then take the trail to Stavanger.�
“You can go to Stavanger! I’m going to London—first train! I’ve a house there—a motor—and self-respect. If I follow you, I’ll find myself in the—in another hay-mow.â€�
He watched her attempts to pin her hat on her head. She jabbed the only remaining hat-pin through the crown at least a score of times. She tightened her lips as she stared at him.
“What are you laughing at?� she asked suddenly. “It isn’t a bit funny. I’m supposed to have some self-respect. I think I’ve lost it all.�
Fay crammed his hands deep within his pockets and bent his knees. He shook his head slightly. There was the thin ghost of a smile on his face.
“Oh, say now!� he said. “It’s better to wake up in a pile of hay than in a stony cell. I thought I was back in Dartmoor till I smelled the clover.�
She lowered her hands from her hat and stared at her rings. Her fingers strayed over her skirt and finished by a swift brush at the hem. She straightened and tried to return his smile.
“I’m hungry!� she said savagely. “I’m hungry and I don’t care who knows it. Let’s go to that farm-house and knock. I’ll kill you for this!�
Fay burst into an uproar of mirth. “Lady Isaacs, and look at you!� he retorted. “Suppose Sir Richard should see you now!�
She glanced at her shoes ruefully. She stamped one foot, then stared at the dog. Her eyes swung upward toward Fay’s lips.