If Mr. John Graeme had had more experience of women, the flash that shot across from the brown eyes to the dark blue ones might have told him stories—for instance, that his name and would-have-been standing towards her friend were not entirely unknown to Miss Penny; that, for a brief half second, she wondered—doubted—and instantly chid herself for such a thought in connection with Margaret Brandt.
But Margaret herself, being a woman, caught the momentary challenge and repelled it steadily.
"I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Penny—in such a place, and in such company. I have heard of you from Miss Brandt," said Graeme.
"Never till five minutes ago," laughed Margaret.
"Yes, if you will pardon me—once before, at Lady Elspeth Gordon's. Unless I am mistaken, Miss Penny had just been across to Dublin to take a degree which Cambridge ungallantly declined to confer upon her."
"Quite right!" said Miss Penny. "M.A. They're misogynists at Cambridge."
"Will you oblige me by informing Miss Penny, Mr. Graeme, that this meeting is purely accidental? I caught a spark in her eye and I know what it means. Had you the very slightest idea that we were coming to Sark?"
"Not the remotest. When I saw you standing in the hedge there, with the morning glories all about you, I first doubted my eyes, then I thought you a vision—"
"And do you think it possible that I knew of you being here?"
"I am certain you did not. Nobody knows. I left no address, and I told no one where I was going. I have not had a letter since I left London. I have been buried alive in this heavenly little place."