They were walking out of the station, and Mrs. Bladon fastened her furs closely round her. It was bitterly cold.
"My dear Mr. Lumsden," she said, airily, as he opened the door of her carriage, "am I answerable to you for my doings? And you know it is best."
"Are you sure of that?" he said, coolly. "Perhaps there are two opinions about it. I am a fatalist, Mrs. Bladon."
"Really? I envy you. Can I give you a lift? No? Then home, James."
Lumsden walked quickly away, his pulses beating fast.
Stay. He had an idea—a brilliant idea. He would not accept defeat so easily. It was early in the day, and he was free for a month. In a month one may do wonders.
The sun was shining with dazzling brilliance as the Orotava dropped her anchor between the lightships in Gibraltar Harbour, in the shadow of the great grey rock; and as Nancy Bladon looked over the side, eagerly scanning the fascinating scene around her, something of the witchery of that sunny Southern air stirred her young blood, and made her pulses beat madly.
The Forsyths were going ashore, and, driving through the narrow streets, Nancy, viewing everything in the light of her own joyous youth, felt enchanted with the picturesque Moors.
As they returned to the ship, and ascended out of the heavy, flat-bottomed boat, another came alongside with several passengers. Lady Forsyth had gone into the saloon, leaving Nancy leaning against the rail in the dancing sunshine. Presently she half turned round, and—found herself face to face with Ted Lumsden!