"Shall I see your father? I am sorry for what I did last night," he said
when they were nearing the villa.

"Father has taken his motor-bicycle and gone for a trip into Italy," she
said. "No, I do not think I should speak to him, even if he were here.
He may come round in time, Francois. You can understand that it is
terribly distressing; he hoped I would make a great marriage. You must
allow for father's disappointment."

He nodded. He did not drive her to the house, but stopped outside the
garage.

"Remember, at half-past ten you will take Madame Meredith to the Lovers'
Chair--you know the place?"

"I know it very well," he said. "It is a difficult place to turn--I must
take her almost into San Remo. Why does she want to go to the Lovers'
Chair? I thought only the cheap people went there----"

"You must not tell her that," she said sharply. "Besides, I myself have
been there."

"And who did you think of, Jean?" he asked suddenly.

She lowered her eyes.

"I will not tell you--now," she said, and ran into the house.

Francois stood gazing after her until she had disappeared, and then,
like a man waking from a trance, he turned to the mundane business of
filling his tank.

Chapter XXXV

Lydia was dressing for her journey when Mrs. Cole-Mortimer came into the
saloon where Jean was writing.

"There's a telephone call from Monte Carlo," she said. "Somebody wants
to speak to Lydia."

Jean jumped up.

"I'll answer it," she said.

The voice at the other end of the wire was harsh and unfamiliar to her.

"I want to speak to Mrs. Meredith."

"Who is it?" asked Jean.

"It is a friend of hers," said the voice. "Will you tell her? The
business is rather urgent."

"I'm sorry," said Jean, "but she's just gone out."

She heard an exclamation of annoyance.

"Do you know where she's gone?" asked the voice.

"I think she's gone in to Monte Carlo," said Jean.

"If I miss her will you tell her not to go out again until I come to the
house?"

"Certainly," said Jean politely, and hung up the telephone.

"Was that a call for me?"

It was Lydia's voice from the head of the stairs.

"Yes, dear. I think it was Marcus Stepney who wanted to speak to you. I
told him you'd gone out," said Jean. "You didn't wish to speak to him?"

"Good heavens, no!" said Lydia. "You're sure you won't come with me?"

"I'd rather stay here," said Jean truthfully.

The car was at the door, and Mordon, looking unusually