Once more there was silence, but it was Kathleen who broke it now. She was determined to carry the war into the enemy's camp. If she could achieve nothing else, she could at least, by showing a mingled boldness and resignation, cause Melun considerable uneasiness.
“I suppose you have put up these things”—and she tapped lightly with her fingers against the blind shutters—“because you were afraid that I might scream or struggle?”
“That is precisely the case,” said Melun.
“You need have no fear of that,” returned Kathleen. “I give you my word that I will neither call out nor attempt to escape. The women of my family are in the habit of acting bravely and openly.”
She intended this as a covert hit at Mme. Estelle, and apparently the shot went home, for she saw the woman redden a little and slightly turn away her head.
Melun gave Kathleen one quick, shrewd glance and then lowered the shutters; and Kathleen, looking almost lazily out of the window, saw that they were now almost clear of the park, and, so far as she could judge by the position of the sun, were running towards the southwest.
The drive continued in complete silence. Mme. Estelle remained red and awkward, Melun was morose and ill at ease. Kathleen alone was self-possessed, though pale. She even forbore to ask whither they were bound, for though sadly tempted to do so, she checked herself with the rather sad reflection that she would know sooner or later.
By-and-by they drew near to a considerable town, and Melun, in spite of Kathleen's promise, drew the blind shutters up once more.
He had, however, the grace to be moderately apologetic.
“It is not because I distrust your word, Lady Kathleen,” he said, “but because I have to take precautions. One does not know who might happen to look into the car.”