"You don't mind, do you? I know it must be painful to you, but—but I want you to."
"Of course I will. It's no longer mine—it never was mine, but it attracts me like a magnet."
Five minutes later they were walking up the drive together. Dick was supremely happy, yet not knowing why he was happy. Everything he saw was laden with poignant memories, while the thought of returning to the house cut him like a knife. Yet he longed to go. For some little distance they walked in silence, then she burst out suddenly.
"Mr. Faversham, do you believe in premonitions?"
"Yes."
"So do I. It is that I wanted to talk with you about."
He did not reply, but his mind flashed back to the night when he had sat alone with Count Romanoff, and Beatrice Stanmore had suddenly and without warning rushed into the room.
"Do you believe in angels?" she went on.
"I do. Granddad is not sure about it. That is, he isn't sure that they appear. Sir George is altogether sceptical. He pooh-poohs the whole idea. He says there was a mistake about the Angels at Mons. He says it was imagination, and all that sort of thing; but he isn't a bit convincing. But I believe."