Isolde had told the story of her adventure to Valerie, dwelling on the facts that the hero detested—absolutely detested—all other women, also that in physique he followed the most approved English pattern, and was an exceptionally good specimen at that. Altogether Valerie had found the description sufficiently attractive to induce her to pay Rallywood that coquettish little visit in the ante-room of the Hôtel du Chancelier.
While these things passed through her thoughts her eyes were still fixed upon the blue plume of smoke that rose and melted over Kofn Ford, for its position indicated the whereabouts of the block-house used by the Frontier Patrol, and there Rallywood had lived during the early part of his acquaintance with Isolde.
'What are you thinking of?' inquired Madame de Sagan suddenly; then, as Valerie made no immediate answer, she added, 'Shall I tell you, Valerie?'
The other turned, with the pink of sunset lighting up her pale face.
'I don't imagine you can guess,' she said, with a faint smile.
Madame de Sagan's little trill of laughter was not quite so childish and irresponsible as usual.
'But I can. You were thinking of Rallywood. You think rather often of Rallywood, my dear girl.'
The guess, so near the truth, startled Valerie, although she gave no sign. What could have suggested such an idea to Isolde? Instantly Valerie was on the defensive. Her delicate nostrils quivered slightly, and her hand—a larger and more capable hand than Isolde's—closed more firmly upon her father's letter, as she replied, with that firm directness which was so surprising a trait in her father's daughter:—
'Yes, I was thinking of him—and you. The block-house where he lived is down there, I can see the smoke. That reminded me of it all. By the way, Isolde, it seems that some young men have a shade of interest about them.'
'This one is rather unlike all the others,' returned Madame de Sagan, with gravity. 'He saved my life, and, well, he is different to anybody else. He assumes nothing.'