“I did come to you,” she said in a low voice. “I thought of you at once, yesterday morning. Aunt Cosy was furious with me because I didn’t go back to the house. But somehow I felt I would much rather come and tell you the dreadful thing which had happened to me.”
“I’m awfully grateful to you for saying that!” Angus Stuart’s measured voice became charged with emotion. He went on, speaking a little quickly: “I longed to take you to that police chap myself, but I knew that Popeau would do the job much better than I could do it. I suppose you know what Popeau really is?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea!” she exclaimed.
“He’s the head of a very important branch of the French Secret Service. Since the war he’s been worked to death; and though he’s on holiday now, they keep in very close touch with him.”
Lily was extremely surprised, and rather thrilled. “I wonder why he didn’t tell me?” she exclaimed.
“He’s an odd sort of man,” said Angus Stuart thoughtfully. “I don’t think he’s exactly proud of his job, Miss Fairfield. Perhaps he’d rather you didn’t know. You’ll keep the fact to yourself, eh?”
“Of course I will!” said Lily.
She was beginning to feel very tired, and her companion looked at her solicitously.
The last few minutes had made a great difference to him. He felt a curious sense of peace come over him. How angelic of her to want to come to him when that dreadful thing happened to her! He would never, never forget her saying that to him. It was the first mile-stone in their friendship—a golden moment in his life. He had always felt that a woman worth the winning must be wooed before she is won. He told himself, as they walked side by side across the great sunlit space, that he had made a very good beginning.
“Now I’m going to drive you up to La Solitude,” he exclaimed, with a touch of that masterfulness which somehow Lily liked—when it came from him.