"Then yesterday, as you passed our table at the Carlton, and it seemed as if heaven had sent you to us to help us—at least so we both felt."
And Bulstrode doubtfully smiled and, now determined, broke in, or would have done so, but she waved him imperiously.
"Your mind," she spoke indulgently, "is on the wrong side to-day. Try to think only of the happiness towards which I am going so rapidly, so rapidly." Then, as she with her word glanced out of the window, she cried: "Oh, what if something should happen to the train—what if some horrible delay——"
And he shook himself to action.
"My dear lady," he began gravely, "you must hear me. You have made and are making a great mistake. I am certainly not the man..."
"I command you, sir," she flashed out at him—"surely you will not disobey me—you will not make me think as well that I am making a mistake in you."
"Ah, but that," he gasped, and caught her words gratefully, "is just the point."
She smiled. "Please...! Let me judge! Only don't condemn me. Only be glad you can so marvellously help a human soul to happiness—can so generously lend yourself for these few hours to aid in my escape."
She was escaping! Well, he had nearly guessed it! The new luggage alone was an indication. Unless her mania was for taking strangers to be intimate friends, she wasn't fleeing a madhouse! From what did she so determinedly run?—and how in heaven's name was he helping her? Did she think he was going to marry her? Into what tangle had the man he was unwittingly impersonating got himself—and in default of his appearing on the scene in what would his absence involve poor Bulstrode?
He took off his hat and put it down on the seat—thus his fine head was fully revealed to the lady's view.