“You certainly put yourself in the way of danger,” he retorted. “Who in the name of Heaven allowed you to go out on the lake alone on a fête night like this? Isn’t there any one to look after you?”
“I look after myself,” she replied shortly. “I’m not a child.”
He laughed.
“Not much more, surely. How old are you? Seventeen? Eighteen?”
“Add four,” said Ann, “and you’ll be nearer it.”
“So much?” He fell silent. There had been genuine surprise in his voice. Perhaps he was recalling her as he had seen her at the Kursaal—boyishly slender, her eager, pointed face alight with gay enthusiasm and amusement.
One, two, three—nine strokes. The sound of a clock striking came wafted faintly across from the shore. Ann started up.
“I must get back!” she exclaimed. “I’d forgotten all about the time.”
A brief smile crossed the man’s dark face.
“So had I,” he said. And there was something in the quality of his voice which sent the colour flying up into her face.