She touched the bell with nervous fingers.
"Antoinette," she said, when her French maid appeared, "I should like to borrow your cloak, hat, and veil for a little while. One does not always like to be known when one goes out on a mission of charity."
"Certainly, madame," replied Antoinette. "Take anything I have in welcome. But, oh, dear me, my smartest jacket will look wofully clumsy on madame's lovely form!"
"Help me on with them quickly, my good girl," cut in Sally, nervously; "and if any one asks for me when I am out—no matter who it is—say that I have lain down with a severe headache, and can not on any account, be disturbed."
In a few moments more, a trim, dainty figure was gliding swiftly along the beach, heavily veiled and all alone.
Yes, he was there waiting for her. There was no mistaking that splendid figure, which was attracting the attention of so many young girls and their chaperons.
With a sweep of her white hand, Sally put back her veil, and stood before him in the garb of her French maid.
For an instant, this unexpected discovery and the remembrance of the remark he had but just uttered recurred to him, and a dull red swept over his face.
"Mrs. Gardiner—Sally!" he cried, rapturously, "I—I was just about to give the woman to whom I intrusted that note to give to your Antoinette a fine setting out."
"Let us walk leisurely along," he suggested. "We will then be less likely to attract attention. I was anxious to know if you reached your apartments in safety," he went on in his most winning tone; but before she had time to reply, he went on quickly: "I was not so fortunate in escaping recognition. I no sooner stepped into the office of the hotel, than a gentleman approached me.