"A jolly good lesson," he said slowly, "it taught me to be ... less of a fool. So don't let that worry you, but help me now—with this damned villa!"
The very depth of his pity for her made him brusque and he ran on jerkily.
"So that's settled. I want your answer. D'you think you could stand it? It's jolly dull—but with no pet dogs or flannel petticoats! Could a 'real lady' become a caretaker?"
She nodded her head, unable to speak, shaken by a fit of coughing. A chilliness was in the air. McTaggart rose to his feet.
"Come along—it's getting damp. We'll go back to my rooms—I'd like to fix this up to-night as I'm off to Scotland early to-morrow."
He held out his hand with a boyish laugh. "Like old times, eh, Fantine?" and helped her up on to her feet, his own eyes suspiciously bright.
With trembling fingers she lowered her veil and shook out the folds of her shabby dress as McTaggart still rattled on, giving her time to recover.
"I want you to travel to Viareggio as soon as you can. It's a long journey—d'you mind that?"
"No"—she laughed shakily—"one goes through France?" Her voice was wistful.
"Yes—I'll write to-night to Cook's—get you a berth. Would you like to stay for a night in Paris on your way? that would be wiser——" he guessed her thought.