"
Seeing a doubtful look in my eyes as I endeavoured to keep pace with
the underlying idea, if any, of this truly feminine fancy, she suddenly
came up to me and, lifting her eyes to mine, murmured: "Don't you trust
me?"
In a moment my passion flared up, and rained hot kisses on her face as
she struggled to release herself from my arms.
When I left that night after dinner, and, walking on air, returned to
the Mess, it was arranged that I should be at her flat with my
suit-case at 6 p.m. the next evening, prepared, to use her own words,
"to disappear with me for 48 hours."
She had told me of an address in Bruges which she said would forward on
any telegram if I was recalled, and I had to be satisfied with that,
for I may as well say here that I never discovered where I went to, and
I don't know to this moment in what part of Belgium I spent the last
two nights.
I tried to find out at first, but as she obviously attached some
importance to keeping the locality of her woodland retreat a secret,
probably to circumvent the Colonel, I soon gave up trying to get the
secret from her, and contented myself with taking things as they came.
To go on with my account of what happened--which was really so
remarkable that I propose writing it out in detail to the best of my
memory--at 6 p.m. next day I was naturally at her flat feeling very
much as if I was on the threshold of an adventure.
Zoe was excited and the flat was in a turmoil, as apparently she had
only just begun to pack her dressing-case.
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