Swiftly she re-crossed the room, sprang through the window and was once more her own free self walking in the cool damp of night. The picture was safely hidden under her jacket.
“He takes what he wants.” She laughed low as she hurried along. “Well, so do the rest of us—sometimes.”
For all the laugh, she felt depressed. Hugo a thief! She had not thought this possible. For all he had interfered with her plans, she had for this dashing young man a certain admiration.
“Well,” she sighed at last, “we must take people as we find them. We—”
Her thoughts broke off suddenly. Some small object bumped against her leg as she walked. Putting down a hand she grasped a small rubber bulb. The bulb was attached to a tube. She gave a slight pull and it came free from the picture, behind which it had doubtless been hidden.
“That’s queer!” she whispered. “One of Hugo’s little secrets.”
At the other end of the tube was a small cube of black material. The thing did not interest her overmuch. Perhaps it was a small atomizer or an affair for spraying perfume. That Hugo was fond of costly, quite faint perfume, she knew well. She dropped it in the pocket of her jacket and there it remained until the following afternoon when, at Danby Force’s request, she motored up to the stately old mansion where Danby lived with his mother.
She found the young man seated with his mother in an out-of-doors pavilion. The sun was bright. It was a rare autumn afternoon.
“This is my mother,” Danby said simply. The beautiful white-haired woman smiled her a welcome. “Danby has been telling me of you. We are going to have some tea,” she said, motioning Florence to a chair.
“It is beautiful up here.” Florence took one long deep breath. It was, just that. The broad-spreading elms, the wavering shadows, the bright crimson flowers, all this was marvelous.