The Listener
cied that Monsey had been wholly absorbed in hearing Whittaker's story.
She had seen the man at intervals about the Château—during rides along the heights, and once when she was walking alone along her favorite promenade on the ramparts. On that occasion she had been aware that Monsey had followed her with his eyes.
"I have had the pleasure," remarked Monsey, "of meeting your father, Miss Rand, in the Château. We had something in common, you know. He is going to India on business."
He looked at her questioningly.
"Daddy will have to take me," she drawled. "He would be right lonely without me. I always go with him. Mr. Whittaker was trying to frighten me with his stories"
"But it was true," protested that gentleman. "It was quite true."
Monsey shrugged. "Kashgar is hardly India, my dear chap. Calcutta, or Kashmir for that matter, is safer than New York."
Edith turned to him impulsively. She was an uncommonly outspoken person, as her aunt, who was traveling with the Rands, had frequently reminded her—with the added prophecy that her disposition would undoubtedly get her into trouble, unless she married first.
But the girl was quite heart-free and she was tremendously content with the path in life that Arthur Rand, her father, had opened for her. She liked to wander, to see things, and to ask questions.
"Are you from India, Mr. Monsey?"
Instinctively she felt that she should say "Captain Monsey," the man was so plainly a former soldier.
11
