She had not been back more than half an hour when a waiter came in to the lounge where she was sitting.
“Miss Trevert?” he said. “Zey ask for you at ze delephone!”
He took her to a cabin under the main staircase.
“This is Miss Trevert speaking!” said Mary.
“I am speaking for Mr. Schulz,” a man’s voice answered—rather a nasal voice with a shade of foreign inflexion—“he has had your letter. He is very sorry he has been detained in the country, but would be very glad if you would lunch with him to-day at his country-house.”
“I shall be very pleased,” the girl replied. “Is it far?”
“Only just outside Rotterdam,” the voice responded. “Mr. Schulz will send the car to the hotel to pick you up at 11.45. The driver will ask for you. Is that all right?”
“Certainly,” said Mary. “Please thank Mr. Schulz and tell him I will expect the car at a quarter to twelve!”
Punctually at the appointed hour an open touring-car drove up to the hotel. Mary was waiting at the entrance. The driver was a young Dutchman in a blue serge suit. He jumped out and came up to Mary.
“Mees Trevert?” he said.