When he was gone, the others, who had not spoken, turned to me, their eyes asking for an explanation.
"One of Hall's friends," I said, trying to look unconcerned, "the mate on the yacht La France—the vessel he joins to-day."
Roderick tapped the table with his fingers; Mary was very white, I thought.
"He knows a queer company," I added, with a grim attempt at jocularity, "they're almost as rough as he is."
"Do you still mean to sail to-night?" asked Roderick.
"I must; I have made a promise to reach Plymouth without a moment's delay."
"Then I sail with you," said he, being very wide-awake.
"Oh, but you can't leave Paris; you promised Mary!"
"Yes, and I release him at once," interrupted Mary, the colour coming and going in her pretty cheeks, "I shall sail from Calais to-night with you and Roderick."
"It's very kind of you—but—you see——"