Sylvia looked at Chester; she was smiling; he thought she would like him to accept.

“That is very kind of you,” he said cordially.

Sylvia nodded her head gaily:  “You are more than kind, dear Madame Wachner,” she exclaimed.  “We shall be delighted to come!  I thought of taking Mr. Chester a drive through the Forest of Montmorency.  Will it do if we are with you about five?”

“Yes,” said Madame Wachner.

And then, to Chester’s satisfaction, she turned and went away.  “I cannot stay now,” she said, “for l’Ami Fritz is waiting for me.  ’E does not like to be kept waiting.”

“What a nice woman!” said Chester heartily, “and how lucky you are, Sylvia, to have made her acquaintance in such a queer place as this.  But I suppose you have got to know quite a number of people in the hotel?”

“Well, no—­,” she stopped abruptly.  She certainly had come to know the Comte de Virieu, but he was the exception, not the rule.

“You see, Bill, Lacville is the sort of place where everyone thinks everyone else rather queer!  I fancy some of the ladies here—­they are mostly foreigners, Russians, and Germans—­think it very odd that I should be by myself in such a place.”

She spoke without thinking—­in fact she uttered her thoughts aloud.

“Then you admit that it is rather a queer place for you to be staying in by yourself,” he said slowly.

“No, I don’t!” she protested eagerly.  “But don’t let’s talk of disagreeable things—­I’m going to take you such a splendid drive!”

* * * * *

Chester never forgot that first day of his at Lacville.  It was by far the pleasantest day he spent there, and Sylvia Bailey, woman-like, managed entirely to conceal from him that she was not as pleased with their expedition as was her companion.

Thanks to M. Polperro’s good offices, they managed to hire a really good motor; and once clear of the fantastic little houses and the waste ground which was all up for sale, how old-world and beautiful were the little hamlets, the remote stretches of woodland and the quiet country towns through which they sped!

On their way back, something said by Sylvia surprised and disturbed Chester very much.  She had meant to conceal the fact that she was riding with Paul de Virieu each morning, but it is very difficult for one accustomed always to tell the truth to use deceit.  And suddenly a careless word revealed to Chester that the horsewoman whose voice had sounded so oddly familiar to him in the Forest that morning had really been Sylvia herself!

He turned on her quickly:  “Then do you ride every morning with this Frenchman?” he asked quietly.

“Almost every morning,” she answered.  “His sister lent me a horse and a riding habit.  It was very kind of her,” she raised her voice, and blushed deeply in the rushing wind.