Then there came briskly along the path towards her, an Englishman. He
was perhaps forty-five years of age. He was dressed with the utmost
care, and he set his feet upon the broad walk as though the action
were in some way a condescension. He was alert, well-groomed, and
yet--perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type--there was
a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. He too looked
at the girl, slackened his pace and looked at her again through his
eye-glasses, looked over his shoulder after he had passed, and finally
came to a dead stop. He scratched his upper lip reflectively.
It was a habit of his to talk to himself. In the present case it did
not matter, as there was no one else within earshot.
"Dear me!" he said. "Dear me! I wonder what I ought to do. She is
English! I am sure of that. She is English, and apparently in some
distress. I wonder----"
He turned slowly round. He was inclined to be a good-natured person,
and he had no nervous fears of receiving a snub. The girl was pretty,
and apparently a lady.
"She cannot be aware," he continued, "that she is making herself
conspicuous. It would surely be only common politeness to drop her a
hint--a fellow countrywoman too. I trust that she will not
misunderstand me. I believe--I believe that I must risk it."
He stood before her, his hat in his hand, his head bent, his voice
lowered to a convenient pitch.
"I beg your pardon," he said, "but you appear to be a
fellow countrywoman of mine, and in some distress. Can I be of any
assistance? I can assure you that it would give me very much
pleasure."
Her first upward glance was one of terrified apprehension. When she
saw however that this man was a stranger, and obviously harmless, her
expression changed as though by magic. A delicate flush of colour
streamed into her cheeks. Her eyes fell, and then sought his again
with timid interest. Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. She
began to act.
"You are very kind," she said hesitatingly, "but I don't remember--I
don't think that I know you, do I?"
"I am afraid that you do not," he admitted, with a smile which he
meant to be encouraging. "You remind me of the story which they tell
against us over here, you know--of the Englishman who refused to be
saved from drowning because he was unacquainted with his rescuer.
Permit me to introduce myself. My name is Ferringhall--Sir John
Ferringhall."