"By Jove! And you've remembered me all this time?"

"Not exactly remembered. It was the feeling I had in my heart, just as Jane said I would, the minute I saw you, that told me it was you. That was why I ran to keep you from going on in your motor car, because if you had, I might have lost you again, forever and ever."

"So you might," said puzzled Hugh Egerton, pleased as well as puzzled.

"And that would never have done for either of us."

"It would have been dreadful," replied Rosemary, "to have to wait for another Christmas Eve."

"Christmas Eve seems a day for adventures," said Hugh. "One finds new friends;--and dear little girls; and--goodness knows what I shall find next."

"We must find Angel next," Rosemary a.s.sured him. "She'll be so glad to see you."

"Do you really think so? By the way, who is Angel?"

"Mother. Didn't you know _that_?"

"I expect I'd forgotten," Hugh answered. She looked so reproachful, that not for the world would he have denied all knowledge of Angel. The child evidently took him for someone she had known; perhaps she had seen a photograph of some long lost friend of her family, who resembled him, and she had sprung to a conclusion, as children do. But she was an exquisitely pretty and engaging little thing, a grand little pal, and worth cultivating. Hugh liked children, especially girls, though he had always been rather shy with them, not knowing exactly how they liked best to be entertained, and finding it difficult to think of things to say, in keeping up a conversation. But there was no such difficulty with this child. It was really interesting to draw the little creature out, and see what she would say next. As for finding Angel, however, when the time came to do that, he thought he would prefer to bid Angel's daughter goodbye at the door. He had no fancy for sc.r.a.ping up an acquaintance with strangers through their children.

CHAPTER SIX

FAIRY FATHERS MUST VANISH

Rosemary sat in silence for a few moments, taking in the full meaning of her companion's answer to her last question. He had forgotten that Angel was Angel! Though she was warmly wrapped in a soft rug of silvery fur, a chill crept into her heart. Could it be that Nurse's words about father had been true, after all; and if they were, was she doing harm, rather than good, in bringing him home?

Presently Hugh waked out of his own thoughts, and noticed the little girl's silence.

"You're not afraid?" he asked, blissfully unconscious of offence. "I'm not driving too fast to please you?"

"Oh no," said Rosemary.

"You're not cold?"

"No, thank you."

"Nor tired?"

"No, not tired."

"But something is the matter?"

"I'm worrying," confessed the child.

"What about, little one?"

"I'm not sure if I ought to have spoken to you, or have come with you, after all."

To save his life, Hugh could not have helped laughing, though it was evidently a matter of serious importance. "What, do you think we ought to have a chaperon?" he asked. "Paul's in the tonneau, you know; and he's a most discreet chap."

"I don't know what a chaperon is," said Rosemary. "But will you promise not to be angry if I ask you something, and will you promise to answer, honour bright?"

"Yes, to both your questions."

"Were you really unkind to Angel, before you were lost?"

This was a hard nut to crack, if his past were not to be ruthlessly severed from Angel's by a word. He thought for a moment, and then said, "Honour bright, I can't remember anything unkind I ever did to her."

"Oh, I'm so glad. I was afraid, when you said you'd forgotten--but maybe her name wasn't Angel, then?"

"That was it, I'm sure," replied Hugh, soothingly. "Maybe you named her Angel, yourself?"

"I don't know," said Rosemary. "She seems to have been it, always, ever since I can remember. And she does look just like one, you know, she's so beautiful."

"I expect you remember a lot more about angels than I do, because it isn't so long since you came from where they live. But here we are in the woods at Cap Martin. Have you ever been here before?"

"Angel and I had a picnic here once, all by ourselves; and there were lots of sheep under the olive trees, and a funny old shepherd who made music to them. Oh, I do love picnics, don't you? Angel said, if she were rich, she'd take me on the loveliest kind of a picnic for Christmas; but, you see, it would cost too much money to do it, for we've hardly got any, especially since the Comtesse doesn't pay us back."

"What kind of picnic would it have been?" asked Hugh, driving along the beautiful sh.o.r.e road, where the wind-blown pines lean forward like transformed wood nymphs, caught in a spell just as they spread out their arms to spring into the sea.

"Angel has told me lots of history-stories about the strange rock-villages in the mountains. There's one called eze, on top of a hill shaped almost like a horn; she showed me a picture of it. Children live up in the rock villages, and never come down to the towns. They've never even seen any toys, like other children play with, Angel says. All the strangers who come here give presents to the poor in Monte Carlo and Mentone, and big places like that; but they never think of the ones up in the mountains. Angel said how nice it would be, if we were rich, to buy toys,--baskets and baskets full,--and give them away to the children of eze. Perhaps you are rich; are you?"

"Richer than I thought, a few years ago, that I ever should be. I used to be poor, until I dug, and found some gold lying about in the ground."

"How splendid! I suppose the fairies showed you where to look. Jane says there are no fairies, but I do hope she's mistaken. I wish you would send up some presents to the little children at eze."

"I will, lots, if you'll take them."

"Perhaps we could all go together."

"I'm afraid your mother wouldn't care for that."

"Yes, she would. Because, if you were never unkind to her, like Nurse said you were, she'll be most awfully glad to see you again. I shouldn't wonder if she'd cry for joy, to have you with us always, and take care of us. Oh, do let's go back now, and I'll take you to her. She _will_ be surprised!"

"I should think she would," said Hugh. "But look here; you said she wouldn't get back till dark. We've come to Mentone now. See how pretty the shops are for Christmas. Can't you stop and have some nice hot chocolate and cakes with me, and afterwards choose a doll for yourself, as a Christmas present from your old friend?"

As he put this temptation before her, he slowed down the car in front of a shop with big gla.s.s windows full of sparkling cakes, and ribbon-tied baskets of crystallized fruits. Through the windows Rosemary could see a great many well-dressed people sitting at little marble tables, and it would have been delightful to go in. But she shook her head. The sun was setting over the sea. The sky was flooded with pink and gold, while all the air was rosy with a wonderful glow which painted the mountains, even the dappled-grey plane trees, and the fronts of the gaily decorated shops.

The donkey women were leading their patient little animals away from the stand on the sea promenade, up to Sorbio for the night; and their dark faces under the queer, mushroom hats were ruddy and beautiful in the rose-light.

"As soon as the sun goes down, it gets dark here," said Rosemary, regretfully. "Thank you very much, but I'd rather go home now. You see, I do _so_ want you to be there already, waiting to surprise Angel when she comes in."

"No time even to buy a doll?"

"I'd rather go home, thank you. Besides, though I should like to have a new doll, perhaps darling Evie would be sad if I played with another."

Hugh was obediently turning the car's bonnet towards Monte Carlo, and for the fraction of a second he was foolish enough almost to lose control of it, on account of a start he gave. "Evie!" he echoed.