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Then he wondered what Dorise would think when he failed to put in an appearance to go with her to the ball at Nice. He pictured the car waiting outside the hotel, Lady Ranscomb fidgeting and annoyed, the count elegant and all smiles and graces, and Dorise, anxious and eager, going to the telephone and speaking to the concierge at the Palmiers.
The great bal blanc is always one of the most important events of the Nice season, and everyone of note wintering on the Riviera was there, yet all carefully masked, both men and women. "I wonder what prevented Hugh from coming with us, mother?" the girl remarked as she sat with Lady Ranscomb watching the merriment and the throwing of serpentines and confetti. "I don't know.
"I forgive you, Mademoiselle," Hugh replied, grasping her slim, white hand. "Mademoiselle will, I hope, meet Miss Ranscomb, Mr. Henfrey's fiancee, and tell her the whole truth," said The Sparrow. "That I certainly will," Yvonne replied. "Now that I can think I shall be allowed to leave this place eh?" "Of course. I will see after that," said the man known as Mr. Peters.
There is a mystery underlying it all that even I cannot fathom, Miss Ranscomb." "What kind of mystery?" The white cavalier shrugged his shoulders. "You must ask Mr. Henfrey. Or perhaps his friend Brock knows. Yet if he does, I do not suppose he would disclose anything his friend may have told him in confidence." "I am bewildered!" the girl declared.
In London I found out that you were up here, so I thought it best to see you in secret. You know why I have come to you, Miss Ranscomb eh?" "On behalf of Mr. Henfrey." "Yes. He is still in hiding. It has been impossible through force of circumstances for him to send you further messages." "Where is he? I want to see him." "Have patience, Miss Ranscomb, and I will arrange a meeting between you."
"And I believe it I firmly believe it," declared Lady Ranscomb. "Your poor father pointed it out to me long ago, and I find that what he said is too true." "But we can't all be lucky, mother," said the girl, watching the revelry before her blankly as she reflected upon the mystery of Hugh's absence. "No.
In that bald official narrative which is docketed under the heading "No. 23489/263 Henfrey" there is no mention of the love affair between Dorise Ranscomb and Hugh Henfrey of Woodthorpe.
"Well, sir, I thank you sincerely for what you have done for Miss Ranscomb during my absence," said the young man, much mystified at finding Dorise strolling at that hour with a man of whose name even she was ignorant. "I know I have enemies, and I shall certainly heed your warning." "Your enemies must not know you are in England. If they do, they will most certainly inform the police."
"But do tell me your name!" she urged, as they moved together from the pathway along the road in the direction of Perth. "I beg of you to do so." "I have already begged a favour of you, Miss Ranscomb," he answered in a soft, refined voice. "I ask you not to press your question. Suffice it that I am your sincere friend." "But when shall I see Hugh?" she cried, again halting.
Once Blairglas Burn had been a mighty river which had, in the bygone ages, worn its way deep through the grey granite down to the broad Tay and onward to the sea. On the estate was some excellent salmon-fishing, as well as grouse on Blairglas Moor, and trout in Blairglas Loch. Here Lady Ranscomb entertained her wealthy Society friends, and certainly she did so lavishly and well.
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