But she was a
very clever woman; and she was not unlike Hamilton in a quite phenomenal
precocity, and in the torrential nature of her passions.
Having a considerable knowledge of women and some of Mrs. Croix, he
inferred that sooner or later she would cease to conceal the light of
her endeavour. Nevertheless, he was taken aback to receive one day a
parcel, which, in the seclusion of his room, he found to contain a
dainty scented handkerchief, the counterpart of the one hidden in the
tree by the post road.
"Can she have put it there on purpose?" he thought. "Did she take for
granted that I would pause to admire the scenery, and that I would
recognize the perfume of her violets? Gad! she's deeper than I thought
if that be true. The wider the berth, the better!"
He gave no sign, and, as he had expected, a note arrived in due course.
It ran:--
THE MAPLES, 8th July--4 in the morning.
DEAR SIR: I fear I am a woman of little purpose, for I intended to
flit here like a swallow and as noiselessly flit again,
accomplishing a political trifle for you meanwhile, of which you
never should be the wiser.
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