Lois, will you marry me?"

"Is this a proposal?" She laughed nervously.

"Sounds like it," he admitted.

She was silent for several moments. Into her eyes there had come something of that look which had sent Lady Mary into her room to write to Captain Vandermere, and bid him come without delay. The color had gone. She seemed suddenly older--tired.

"Oh, I don't know!" she said. "I think I should like to, but I can't!--no, I can't!"

They began to descend the hill. He kept his arm in hers.

"Why not?" he asked. "Don't you care for me?"

"I--I don't know," she answered. "I don't know whether I care for anybody. Wait, please. Don't speak to me for several moments."

Their path skirted the side of a ploughed field, and then through a little gate they pa.s.sed into a long, straggling plantation. Directly she was under the shelter of the trees, she burst into tears.

"Don't come near me," she begged. "Leave me alone for a moment. I shall be better directly."

He disregarded her bidding to the extent of placing his arm around her waist. He made no attempt, however, to draw her hands away from her face, or stop her tears.

"Little girl," he said, "I knew that there was some trouble. It is there in your dear, innocent little face for anyone to see who cares enough about you to look. When you have dried those eyes, you must tell me all about it. Remember that even if you won't have me for a husband, we are old enough friends for you to look upon me as an elder brother."

She dried her eyes, and looked up at him with a hopeless little smile.

"You are a dear," she said, "and I am very fond of you. I don't know what's happened to me--at least I do know, but I can't tell anyone."

"Is it," he asked gravely, "that you care about this person?"

"Oh, I don't know!" she answered. "I hope not. I don't know, I'm sure.

Sometimes I feel that I do, and sometimes, when I am sane, when I am in my right mind, I know that I do not. Maurice," she begged, "help me. Please help me."

His face cleared.

"I'll help you right enough, little girl," he answered. "Just listen to me. I'm not going to see you throw yourself away upon an outsider.

Just remember that. On the other hand, I'm not going to bother you to death. Here I am by your side, and here I mean to stay. If that--no, I won't call him names!" he said, stopping short in his sentence--"but if anyone tries to make you unhappy, well, I shall have something to say. Come along, let's finish our walk. We'll talk about something else if you like."

She drew a little sigh of relief.

"You are a dear, Maurice," she repeated. "Come along, we'll go down the lane and over the hills home. I do feel safe, somehow, with you,"

she added, impulsively. "You are not going away just yet, are you?"

"Not for a fortnight, at any rate," he answered.

"And you won't leave me alone?" she begged--"not even if I ask to be left alone? You see--I can't make you understand--but I don't even trust myself."

He laughed rea.s.suringly.

"I'll look after you, never fear," he answered. "I'll be better than a watchdog. Tell me, what's your handicap at golf now? We must have a game to-morrow."

They walked down the lane, talking--in a somewhat subdued manner, perhaps, but easily enough--upon lighter subjects. And then at the corner, just as they had pa.s.sed the entrance to Blackbird's Nest, they came face to face with Saton. Vandermere felt her suddenly creep closer to him, as though for protection, and from his six feet odd of height, he frowned angrily at the young man with his hat in his hand preparing to accost them. Never was dislike more instinctive and hearty. Vandermere, an ordinarily intelligent but unimaginative Englishman, of the normally healthy type, a sportsman, a good fellow, and a man of breeding--and Saton, this strange product of strange circ.u.mstances, externally pa.s.sable enough, but with something about him which seemed, even in that clear November sunshine, to suggest the footlights.

"You are quite a stranger, Miss Champneyes," Saton said, taking her unresisting hand in his. "I hope that you are going in to see the Comtesse. Only this morning she told me that she was finding it appallingly lonely."

"I--I wasn't calling anywhere this afternoon," Lois said timidly.

"Captain Vandermere has come down to stay with us for a few days, and I was showing him the country. This is Mr. Saton--Captain Vandermere.

I don't know whether you remember him."

The two men exchanged the briefest of greetings. Saton's was civil enough. Vandermere's was morose, almost discourteous.

"Let me persuade you to change your mind," Saton said, speaking slowly, and with his eyes fixed upon Lois. "The Comtesse would be so disappointed if she knew that you had pa.s.sed this way and had not entered."

Vandermere was conscious that in some way the girl by his side was changed. She drew a little away from him.

"Very well," she said, "I shall be pleased to go in and see her. You do not mind, Maurice?"

"Not at all," he answered. "If I may be allowed, I will come with you."

There was a moment's silence. Then Saton spoke--quietly, regretfully.

"I am so sorry," he said, "but the Comtesse de Vestinges--my adopted mother," he explained, with a little bow--"receives no one. She is old, and her health is not of the best. A visit from Miss Champneyes always does her good."

Lois looked up at her companion.

"Perhaps," she said, "you will have a cigarette in the lane."

"I am sorry to seem inhospitable," Saton said smoothly. "If Captain Vandermere will come up to the house, my study is at his service, and I can give him some cigarettes which I think he would find pa.s.sable."

"Thank you," Vandermere answered, a little gruffly, "I'll wait out here. Remember, Lois," he added, turning towards her, "that we are expected home to play bridge directly after tea."

"I will not be long," she answered.

She moved off with Saton, turning round with a little farewell nod to Vandermere as they pa.s.sed through the gate. He took a quick step towards her. Was it his fancy, or was there indeed appeal in the quick glance which she had thrown him? Then directly afterwards, while he hesitated, he heard her laugh. Reluctantly he gave up the idea of following them, and swinging himself onto a gate, sat watching the two figures climbing the field toward the house.

CHAPTER XXV

A LAST WARNING

The laugh which checked Vandermere in his first intention of following Lois and Saton up the field, was scarcely a mirthful effort. Saton had bent toward his companion, and his tone had been almost threatening.

"You must not look at anyone like that while I am with you," he said.

"You must not look as though you were frightened of me. You must seem amused. You must laugh."

She obeyed. It was a poor effort, but it sounded natural enough in the distance.