Then turning her head aside, she inquired with studied carelessness:
"How long, I wonder, does Mr. Heath plan to remain in Wilton?"
"I could not say, madam."
"I think," hurried on the woman, "that as soon as he is able to make the journey he would better go home. This climate is—is—damp and he will, perhaps, pick up faster away from the sea. If you have any influence with him, won't you please advise it?"
The man's small, grey eyes narrowed.
"I have no influence with Mr. Heath," replied he. "Mrs. Heath has, however. Shall I tell her?"
"I wish you would."
An hour later My Unknown Lady weighed anchor and on the breast of the high tide, rounded the Point and disappeared out to sea, carrying with her Currier and the jewels.
Marcia watched until the last snowy ripple foaming in her wake had disappeared. When the infinitesimal, bobbing craft was no longer visible, she sank into a chair and brushed her hand across her eyes.