"The atmosphere," I answered. "It is no weather for London."

"Monsieur is right," he admitted. "He is thinking of departing for the country soon?"

"It depends a little upon mademoiselle," I answered.

Louis shook his head very slowly. He had the air of a man who discusses something with infinite regret.

"It would be very delightful indeed," he said, "if it were possible for mademoiselle to go into Norfolk to your brother's house. It would be very good for mademoiselle, but I am not sure--I fear that her uncle--"

"How the mischief did you know anything about it?" I asked in amazement.

Louis smiled--that subtle, half-concealed smile which seemed scarcely to part his lips.

"Why should not mademoiselle have told me?" he asked.

"But I have not!" she declared suddenly. "I have not seen Louis since you were here this afternoon, Capitaine Rotherby."

Louis extended his hands.

"It is true," he admitted. "It is not from mademoiselle that I had the news. But there, one cannot tell. Things may alter at any moment. It may be very pleasant for Monsieur Delora that his niece is able to accept this charming invitation."

"So you have been in communication with Mr. Delora, Louis?" I asked.

"Naturally," Louis answered. "He told me of mademoiselle's request. He told me that he had promised to reply at ten o'clock this evening."

"Perhaps you can tell us," I remarked, "what that reply will be?"

Louis' face remained absolutely expressionless. He only shook his head.

"Mr. Delora is his own master," he said. "It may suit him to be without mademoiselle, or it may not. Pardon, monsieur!"

Louis was gone, but he had left his shadow behind.

"He does not think," she murmured, "that I may come!"

"Felicia,--" I said.

"But I did not say that you might call me Felicia!" she interrupted.

"Then do say so," I begged.

"For this evening, then," she a.s.sented.

"For this evening, then, Felicia," I continued. "I do not wish to worry you by talking about certain things, but do you not think yourself that your uncle is very inconsiderate to leave you here alone on your first visit to London,--not to come near the place, or provide you with any means of amus.e.m.e.nt? Why should he hesitate to let you come to us?"

"We will not talk of it," she begged, a little nervously. "I must do as he wishes. We will hope that he says yes, will we not?"

"He must say yes!" I declared. "If he doesn't I'll find out where he is, somehow, and go and talk to him!"

She shook her head.

"He is very much engaged," she said. "He would not like you to find him out, nor would he have any time to talk to you."

"Selling his coffee?" I could not help saying.

"To-night, Capitaine Rotherby," she answered softly, "we do not talk of those things. Tell me what else we shall do down at your brother's house?"

"We shall go for long walks," I told her. "There are beautiful gardens there--a rose garden more than a hundred years old, and at the end of it a footpath which leads through a pine plantation and then down to the sea marshes. We can sit and watch the sea and talk, and when you find it dull we will fill the house with young people, and play games and dance--dance by moonlight, if you like. Or we can go fishing," I continued. "There is a small yacht there and a couple of sailing-boats."

She listened as though afraid of losing a single word.

"Tell me," I asked, "have you been lonely all your life, child?"

"All my life," she answered, and somehow or other her voice seemed to me full of tears, so that I was almost surprised to find her eyes dry. "Yes, I have always been lonely!" she murmured. "My uncle has been kind to me, but he has always some great scheme on hand, and Madame Muller--she would be kind if she knew how, I think, but she is as though she were made of wood. She has no sympathy, she does not understand."

"I wonder," I said reflectively, "what made your uncle bring you here."

"It was a promise," she said hurriedly,--"a promise of long ago. You yourself must know that. Your letter from your brother in South America said, 'Mr. Delora and his niece.'"

"It is true," I admitted. "But why he should want to bring you and then neglect you like this--But I forgot," I interrupted. "We must not talk so. Tell me, you have been often to the theatre in Paris?"

"Very seldom," she answered, "and I love it so much. Madame Muller and I go sometimes, but where we live is some distance from Paris, and it is difficult to get home afterwards, especially for us two alone. My uncle takes us sometimes, but he is generally so occupied."

"He is often in Paris, then?" I asked.

She started a little.

"Yes!" she said hurriedly. "He is often there, of course. But please do not forget,--to-night we do not talk about my uncle. We talk about ourselves. May I ask you something?"

"Certainly!" I answered.

"If my uncle says 'No!'--that I may not come--do you go away altogether, then, to-morrow?"

"No," I answered, "I do not! I shall not leave you alone here. So long as you stay, I shall remain in London."

She drew a little breath, and with a quick, impetuous movement her hand stole across the table and pressed mine.

"It is so good of you!" she murmured.

"I am afraid that it is selfishness, Felicia," I answered. "I should not care to go away and leave you here. I am beginning to find," I added, "that the pleasures in life which do not include you count for very little."

"You will turn my head," she declared, with a delightful little laugh.

"It is the truth," I a.s.sured her.

"I am quite sure now," she murmured, "that my great holiday has commenced!"