self-possessed young woman was impossible, in fact ludicrous. For
the moment he seemed unable to cope with the situation. It was the
girl who spoke first. She came forward slowly, across the long
narrow room.

"I am Gillian Locke, _Monsieur_."




CHAPTER IV


On the cushioned window seat in her bedroom at Craven Towers
Gillian Locke sat with her arms wrapped round her knees waiting
for the summons to dinner. With Miss Craven and her guardian she
had left London that morning, arriving at the Towers in the
afternoon, and she was tired and excited with the events of the
day. She leant back against the panelled embrasure, her mind
dwelling on the last three crowded months they had spent in Paris
and London waiting until the house was redecorated and ready to
receive them. It had been for her a wonderful experience. The
novelty, the strangeness of it, left her breathless with the
feeling that years, not weeks, had rushed by. Already in the
realisation of the new life the convent days seemed long ago, the
convent itself to have receded into a far off past. And yet there
were times when she wondered whether she was dreaming, whether
waking would be inevitable and she would find herself once more in
the old dormitory to pray passionately that she might dream again.
And until tonight there had scarcely been time even to think, her