"No—none," he replied simply. "It's rather ungallant, Miss Santoine, but I'm afraid I wasn't thinking much about Miss Furden."
She felt that his denial was the truth, for his words confirmed the impression she had had when singing with him the night before. She drove on—or rather let the horse take them on—for a few moments during which neither spoke. They had come about a bend in the road, and the great house of her father loomed ahead. A motor whizzed past them, coming from behind. It was only Avery's car on the way home; but Harriet had jumped a little in memory of the day before, and her companion's head had turned quickly toward the car. She looked up at him swiftly; his lips were set and his eyes gazed steadily ahead after Avery, and he drew a little away from her. A catch in her breath—almost an audible gasp—surprised her, and she fought a warm impulse which had all but placed her hand on his.
"Will you tell me something, Miss Santoine?" he asked suddenly.
"What?"
"I suppose, when I was with Mr. Avery this afternoon, that if I had attempted to escape, he and the chauffeur would have combined to detain me. But on the way back here—did you assume that when you took me in charge you had my parole not to try to depart?"
"No," she said. "I don't believe Father depended entirely on that."
"You mean that he has made arrangements so that if I—exceeded the directions given me, I would be picked up?"
"I don't know exactly what they are, but you may be sure that they are made if they are necessary."
"Thank you," Eaton acknowledged.
She was silent for a moment, thoughtful. "Do you mean that you have been considering this afternoon the possibilities of escape?"