I sighed—in earnest.
"Are you as strong as I?"
"You choose to talk in riddles. You know very well that in your hands I should be like a baby. Where are you taking me?"
"I hardly know. I hope out of the shadow into the sunshine."
"Suppose a policeman—see, there is one over the road—were to come up now, and say I was his prisoner. What should you do?"
"I should explain that he was mistaken."
"Explain!" She laughed. "But you can't explain to every one, in the same fashion, for ever."
I was startled. Her question had a little startled me. To tell the truth, I was wondering myself where I was taking her. The Paris boat train did not start till nine. It was barely five. To stay in London for another four hours would be to run a risk. By that time, too, a watch might have been set upon the boat express.
We were walking towards the Brompton Road. I was just thinking of calling a cab, being only restrained from doing so by the doubt as to where I should tell him to drive us, when my attention was diverted by an exclamation from the lady,
"Mr. Ferguson! Look! There's Mr. Lawrence!"
