And then he took the girl’s hand and held it in his powerful, cool grasp for a moment or two.
“I am sorry you have had all this trouble,” he said feelingly. “You must forget that poor Mr. Ponting ever existed.”
“I don’t think I shall ever forget that, M. Popeau,” said Lily slowly, “or your kindness to me about it all.”
He ambled off, swaying a little as he walked. Lily looked after the peculiar and rather ungainly figure with a touch of affectionate regret.
“What a pity M. Popeau doesn’t take more exercise—just to keep himself in condition,” she said. It was strange to feel, as she did feel, that this foreigner, whom she had only known a fortnight, had already a very secure niche in her heart—in fact, a niche next to her dear Uncle Tom. “What a dear he is!” she exclaimed.
And then, for her companion remained silent and began tracing imaginary patterns on the sandy path with his stick, Lily suddenly felt overwhelmed with a sensation very new to her—that of intense shyness.
Strange to say—it really was strange when she came to think of it—this was the very first time she had ever been alone with a man who sat so curiously silent by her side, for she did not count the few moments they had spent together yesterday morning. She remembered a funny little interchange of words they had had yesterday on the golf course, when Captain Stuart had said in such a whimsical way that he wished they two could walk on and on “beyond the mountains’ purple rim.” It had been said lightly, as if in fun, and yet—though Lily’s mind and thoughts were then still full of her dreadful discovery—she had felt somehow that Captain Stuart’s fanciful suggestion had come from his heart.
He turned towards her, and, as if echoing her thought: “I wonder if you realise that this is the very first time, if we except yesterday morning, I’ve ever had an opportunity of saying a word to you alone!” he exclaimed.
And Lily answered with that touch of unconscious hypocrisy which even the most truthful girl may show in such a circumstance, “I suppose it is.”
“Our good friend, M. Popeau,” Angus Stuart spoke with a touch of irony, “shows himself a most efficient chaperon, Miss Fairfield——”