“Guy always speaks cheerfully too,” said Isobel in her simple, straightforward way. “But I am always doubtful when he leaves me.”
“Mr Rossett does not know what is in my mind, Miss Clandon. And I dare not tell him, for reasons of my own. An incautious confidence might utterly frustrate my plans. I have many helping me, but I have close at hand a man who is going to be my ablest lieutenant. Strange to say, you know that man well.”
Isobel lifted up to him startled eyes. “You bewilder me. I know so few people.”
“It will surprise you to know that your cousin, Maurice Farquhar, is in Madrid at the present moment and waiting to receive my instructions.”
“Maurice Farquhar in Madrid,” she repeated. “But why, but why?”
“Because I wanted to have a clear-brained, resolute Englishman at my right hand when the supreme moment came. I can’t tell you everything. I daren’t tell you much. Would you like to see your cousin? I can manage it easily.”
“Oh, I would love to,” replied Isobel promptly, speaking according to the dictates of her open, generous nature. Then she suddenly remembered that Guy had expressed a certain jealousy of her cousin. “But perhaps at the moment it might not be prudent. I am here incognita, in a rather difficult situation. Later on, perhaps.”
From those few halting phrases Moreno guessed accurately enough what was passing in her mind. She had a sincere affection, for her cousin, who came over here to assist her at the greatest personal inconvenience, but she would not see him, in case his visit might give offence to her lover. It is ever thus that self-sacrifice in love is rewarded.
“I quite understand,” he said. “Well, Farquhar is a white man, a man in a thousand. I wrung a promise from him some time ago that he would come over here to help me to save Mr Rossett. You can guess why he gave me that promise.”
“Yes,” answered Isobel in a low voice. “I can guess why he gave that promise. He wanted to help me. You cannot tell how mean I felt. Oh, I think I will risk it. Please ask him to come and see me.”