Leonie shook her head, and the two great, hastily twisted plaits wriggled like shining snakes, causing the dog to lay one paw on his bone and snarl.
"I don't smoke!"
"How delightful!" said Jan Cuxson. "I was sure you didn't—I love women who smell of lavender."
"Won't you smoke—your pipe—and tell me what you are going to make of your life."
"They—the plans—have all been fogged up this morning !" he said slowly after a moment's pause. "How strange it all is. Do you know that I was going up to town next week to hunt up you, of all people? Do you remember anything of my father's death?"
"We don't talk about it," said Leonie quietly, and the man looked at her with a sudden questioning in the steady eyes.
"I am taking on his work, you know, specialising in the brain. I have got through all my exams quite decently, thanks, I think, to his wonderful notes, have travelled a bit in the east, and before settling down intended to go to India—what for do you think?"
Leonie shook her head. "Holiday?"
"Er—yes, almost. You know I simply loved my father, and his very last entry in his book of notes was about you. One line was this: 'Most interesting—shall go to India and find the ayah.' He died of heart failure, you know, and he must have written the last line before he died—it is: 'The answer to the problem concerning Leonie Hetth is in the third volume upon——' There was nothing after that—I thought he would be awfully pleased if I carried out his last wishes, and meant to hunt you up and see if you were still—er—bothered with dreams and then——"
He stopped short as Leonie leapt to her feet and ran back from a wave which had most unexpectedly swirled upon her from behind a rock.