She looked at them, her pretty face pink, her eyes dancing with excitement. There was something appealing about her, in the big childish eyes, and in the well-bred voice with its faint hint of a French accent. The girl she looked at could hardly have been called pretty—she was slender and long-limbed, with honest grey eyes and a sensitive mouth that seemed always ready to break into smiles. A little smile hovered at its corners now, but her voice held a note of protection.
“I don't think we need bother you to tell us,” she said. “In our country it's a very ordinary thing to give anyone a lift, if you have a seat to spare. Isn't it, daddy?”
“Of course,” said her father. “And we are to be fellow-passengers, so it was very lucky that we were there in the nick of time.”
Cecilia looked at them gratefully. It might have been so different, she thought; she might have flung herself on the mercy of people who would have been suspicious and frigid, or of others who would have treated her with familiarity and curious questioning. These people were pleasantly matter-of-fact; glad to help, but plainly anxious to show her that they considered her affairs none of their business. There was a little catch in her throat as she answered.
“It is very good of you to take me on trust—I know I did an unwarrantable thing. But my brother, Captain Rainham, will explain everything, and he will be as grateful to you as I am. He is at the ship now.”
“Then we can hand you over to his care,” said her host. “By the way, is there any need to guard against the—er—lady you spoke of? Is she likely to follow you to the docks?”
“She doesn't know I'm going,” said Cecilia, dimpling. “Of course, if it were in a novel she would leap into a swift motor and bid the driver follow us, and be even now on our heels—”
“Goodness!” said the other girl. She twisted so that she could look out of the tiny window at the back; turning back with a relieved face.
“Nothing near us but a carrier's van and a pony cart,” she said. “I shouldn't think you need worry.”
“No. I really don't think I need. My stepmother did see me in the taxi, but her brain doesn't move very swiftly, nor does she, for that matter—and I'm sure she wouldn't try to follow me. She knows, too, that if she found me she couldn't drag me away as if I were two years old. Oh, I'm sure I'm safe from her now,” finished Cecilia, with a sigh of relief.