"Till to-morrow, dearest," I said. "I'll ring you up first thing in the morning, before you go to the Tregattocks'. Then we can arrange about meeting."
She drew the fingers of her other hand down my sleeve. "And you will be very careful," she pleaded, "for my sake?"
I smiled at her reassuringly. "Mercia mine," I whispered, "I have something to live for now."
Billy came out of the hotel, accompanied by a pleasant-looking, middle-aged man with a short grey beard.
"It's all right," he said. "M. Paulhan will see that Miss de Rosen is quite comfortable."
The manager bowed. "I will be sure that Mademoiselle has everything she wishes."
I opened the door and helped Mercia out, a porter who appeared from the hotel possessing himself of her bag. I insisted that she should go straight up to bed, for she was obviously so tired that she could hardly keep her eyes open. So we parted in the lounge, Mercia going up in the lift, and Billy and I getting back into the car.
"I expect we shall find the house all locked up," I said. "I ought to have sent them a wire from Woodford to say we were coming."
"Well, it can't be helped," returned Billy. "We shall have to knock 'em up, that's all. Where do you keep the car?"
"Goodness knows," I laughed. "I never thought of asking Simpson."