And he left her.
Three minutes later they met again out of sight of Lady Ranscomb, who was still sitting at one of the little wicker tables talking to three other women.
“Tell me, who are you?” Dorise inquired.
The white cavalier laughed.
“I’m Mr. X,” was his reply.
“Mr. X? Who’s that?”
“Myself. But my name matters nothing, Miss Ranscomb,” he said. “I have come here to give you a confidential message.”
“Why confidential—and from whom?” she asked, standing against the wall and surveying the mysterious masker.
“From a gentleman friend of yours—Mr. Henfrey.”
“From Hugh?” she gasped. “Do you know him?”