“Ah, Mademoiselle,” he cried, “you are a judge of character, and you have read him perfectly.”
“Then I must leave you, Messieurs,” she answered, with her eyes in her lap. But she made no move to go.
“You need have no fear of Mr. Ritchie, Mademoiselle,” answered Nick, instantly. “I am here to protect you against his gallantry.”
This time Nick received the glance, and quailed before it.
“And who—par exemple—is to protect me against—you, Monsieur?” she asked in the lowest of voices.
“You forget that I, too, am unprotected—and vulnerable, Mademoiselle,” he answered.
Her face was hidden again, but not for long.
“How did you come?” she demanded presently.
“On air,” he answered, “for we saw you in New Orleans yesterday.”
“And—why?”