Lady Carey shrugged her shoulders with the air of one who finds further argument hopeless.
"I shall have no more to say to you, Lucille, on this subject," she said. "You are impossible. In a few days you will be forced to come round to my point of view. I will wait till then. And in the meantime, if you think I am going to tramp up and down those sloppy decks and gaze at the sea you are very much mistaken. I am going to lie down like a civilized being, and try and get a nap. You had better do the same."
Lucille laughed.
"For my part," she said, "I find any part of the steamer except the deck intolerable. I am going now in search of some fresh air.
Shall I send your woman along?"
Lady Carey nodded, for just then the steamer gave a violent lurch, and she was not feeling talkative. Lucille went outside and walked up and down until the lights of Calais were in sight. All the time she felt conscious of the observation of a small man clad in a huge mackintosh, whose peaked cap completely obscured his features. As they were entering the harbour she purposely stood by his side. He held on to the rail with one hand and turned towards her.
"It has been quite a rough passage, has it not?" he remarked.
She nodded.
"I have crossed," she said, "when it has been much worse. I do not mind so long as one may come on deck."
"Your friend," he remarked, "is perhaps not so good a sailor?"
"I believe," Lucille said, "that she suffers a great deal. I just looked in at her, and she was certainly uncomfortable."
The little man gripped the rail and held on to his cap with the other hand.
"You are going to Paris?" he asked.
Lucille nodded.
"Yes."
They were in smoother water now. He was able to relax his grip of the rail. He turned towards Lucille, and she saw him for the first time distinctly - a thin, wizened-up little man, with shrewd kindly eyes, and a long deeply cut mouth.
"I trust," he said, "that you will not think me impertinent, but it occurred to me that you have noticed some apparent interest of mine in your movements since you arrived on the boat."
Lucille nodded.
"It is true," she answered. "That is why I came and stood by your side. What do you want with me?"
"Nothing, madam," he answered. "I am here altogether in your interests. If you should want help I shall be somewhere near you for the next few hours. Do not hesitate to appeal to me. My mission here is to be your protector should you need one."
Lucille's eyes grew bright, and her heart beat quickly.
"Tell me," she said, "who sent you?"
He smiled.
"I think that you know," he answered. "One who I can assure you will never allow you to suffer any harm. I have exceeded my instructions in speaking to you, but I fancied that you were looking worried. You need not. I can assure you that you need have no cause."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"I knew," she said, "that those telegrams were forgeries."
He looked carefully around.
"I know nothing about any telegrams," he said, "but I am here to see that no harm comes to you, and I promise you that it shall not.
Your friend is looking out of the cabin door. I think we may congratulate ourselves, madam, on an excellent passage."
Lady Carey disembarked, a complete wreck, leaning on the arm of her maid, and with a bottle of smelling salts clutched in her hand. She slept all the way in the train, and only woke up when they were nearing Paris. She looked at Lucille in astonishment.
"Why, what on earth have you been doing to yourself?" she exclaimed.
"You look disgustingly fit and well."
Lucille laughed softly.
"Why not? I have had a nap, and we are almost at Paris. I only want a bath and a change of clothes to feel perfectly fresh."
But Lady Carey was suspicious.
"Have you seen any one you know upon the train?" she asked.
Lucille shook her head.
"Not a soul. A little man whom I spoke to on the steamer brought me some coffee. That is all."
Lady Carey yawned and shook out her skirts. "I suppose I'm getting old," she said. "I couldn't look as you do with as much on my mind as you must have, and after traveling all night too."
Lucille laughed.
"After all," she said, "you know that I am a professional optimist, and I have faith in my luck. I have been thinking matters over calmly, and, to tell you the truth, I am not in the least alarmed."
Lady Carey looked at her curiously.
"Has the optimism been imbibed," she asked, "or is it spontaneous?"
Lucille smiled.
"Unless the little man in the plaid mackintosh poured it into the coffee with the milk," she said, "I could not possibly have imbibed it, for I haven't spoken to another soul since we left."
"Paris! Here we are, thank goodness. Celeste can see the things through the customs. She is quite used to it. We are going to the Ritz, I suppose!"
