Some two months after that curious experience in Sofia, we were guests of some friends of Rayne’s called Baynes, who lived at Enderby Manor, a few miles out of Winchester.
The reason of our visit was somewhat obscure, yet as far as I could gather it had no connection with “business.” So Rayne, Lola, and myself spent a very pleasant four days with one of the most charming families I think I have ever met.
Enderby was a beautiful old place lying back in a great park and surrounded by woods, half-way between Winchester and Romsey, and George Baynes, who had made a fortune in South America, and whose wife was a Brazilian lady, was a splendid host.
One bright afternoon Rayne had gone off somewhere with Mr. Baynes, so I found Lola and we both went for a stroll in the beautiful woods.
For a long time we chatted merrily, when, of a sudden—I don’t exactly know how it happened—but I took her hand, and, looking straight into her eyes, I declared my passion for her.
I must have taken her unawares, for she drew back with a strange, half-frightened expression. Her breath came and went in quick gasps, and when she found her tongue, she replied:
“No, George. It is impossible—quite impossible!”
“Why?” I demanded quickly. “I love you, Lola. Can you never reciprocate my affection?”
She shook her head sadly, but still allowing me to hold her soft little hand.
“You must not speak of love,” she whispered. “You are an honest man who has been entrapped and compelled to act dishonestly as you do. I know it all, alas! I—I know——” and she burst into tears. “I have discovered,” she sobbed, “that my father is a thief!”