"You are not English, then?"
For an instant she seemed to bristle with indignation; her eyes, wide open now, snapped.
"English! No; I am a French woman, thank God!"
She showed them into a somberly furnished but spotlessly kept sitting-room; a single window overlooked that portion of the lawn which lay behind the house.
"If you will sit down," she said, "I will speak to Mr. Warwick."
Ashton-Kirk, whose first glance had been through the window, said:
"You have Japanese for neighbors, I see."
The woman's eyes also went to the window; there was a long, narrow stretch of lawn between the house and the one behind it; and this was divided in the center by a hedge fence. Upon the opposite side of the latter, engaged in uprooting the encroaching weeds, was a small, dark man with spectacles and grayish hair. At sight of him the old woman made a gesture of aversion.
"The good God hates all pagans," she said, resolutely, and went out.
The secret agent smiled.