CHAPTER XI
Raoul Le Breton took Pansy's riddle home to solve. He went about it in his own private sanctum. Seating himself at the desk, he wrote out the verse, with a French-English dictionary, making sure his spelling was correct. Then he set out to find the solution.
He was not long in doing so.
Afterwards he sat on, gazing at the pansies in the crystal bowl on the desk, a tender look on his arrogant face.
A daring little creature, that beautiful English girl, frank as the boy she looked in her riding suit, with attractions beyond those of her sex and beauty; a courage that roused his admiration; a kindness that moved his heart; a disinterestedness sweet as it was novel; an ability to touch parts of his being no woman had touched before, and with a subtle something about her that brought him an ease of spirit he rarely experienced. "Heart's Ease," truly!
As he brooded on Pansy he forgot his vengeance—that he was only waiting in Grand Canary until quite certain Sir George Barclay was on his way to Gambia.
He thought only of the velvety-eyed girl who had answered him so deftly and laughingly.
The riddle had told him the one thing he would ask her to do; his two words, spelt with six letters:
"Love me."