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Marquis looked at the woman he had rescued and realised she was very young and very lovely.
    Her fair hair fell almost to her waist and her eyes, wide and terror-stricken seemed to fill the whole of her small face. She was standing only a few inches from the wall of the small room and now she moved forward a step to say in a low and frightened little voice,
    “Thank you – thank you for – saving me, sir, I did not – know what – to do.”
    “It is intolerable that you should have been subjected to anything so unpleasant,” the Marquis said. “He will not return, but lock your door and do not open it again.”
    “I – it was very – foolish of me to have done so – but I never thought – I never dreamt – there were – men like him in the world.”
    The Marquis could not help smiling.
    “Now you know there are, be more careful in future.”
    “I – will,” she answered, “and – thank you again. I am – very grateful.”
    “You are safe now. Go to sleep and forget about it,” the Marquis said as if he was speaking to a child.
    He went out closing the door behind him and, before he reached his own room, he heard the key turn in the lock.
    As he got into bed, he thought he could understand Sir Jocelyn taking a fancy to the very pretty girl who was sleeping next door.
    He had said it was a long time since he had seen anyone so lovely and the Marquis thought he spoke the truth.
    He wondered who she was and why she was travelling alone.
    Then he remembered that Sir Jocelyn had called her ‘Miss Clifford’.
    ‘It is not an unusual name,’ the Marquis thought, ‘but she is obviously a lady. Her hair is the colour of spring sunshine.’
    Then he laughed at himself for being so poetic and fell asleep.
*
    It was a long time before Torilla’s frightened heartbeats began to subside and, when she was back in bed, she lay trembling.
    Never had she expected that a gentleman would dare to force his way into her bedroom.
    She had seen him looking at her in the coffee room while he sat there with a number of other gentlemen.
    They had grown noisier and more uproarious as the dinner progressed and Torilla quickly realised that they were drinking too freely.
    At the table in the far corner where she sat with the other passengers on the stagecoach, a few of the men drank ale, but the ladies primly asked for glasses of water.
    Since the coach party was served last, the food was getting cold and they were not given a choice of the more luxurious dishes that were served to the other diners.
    Torilla had been too tired to be hungry, but felt impatient at the long time that elapsed between each course since the servants were not interested in their requirements.
    She was thinking it was hopeless to wait for a dessert when a man’s voice asked,
    “May I introduce myself?”
    She had looked up to see standing beside her, the gentleman who had been staring at her in an embarrassing manner all through dinner.
    “I am Sir Jocelyn Threnton,” he went on, with an air that told Torilla he expected her to be impressed. “Will you join me in a glass of wine?”
    “No – thank you, sir,” Torilla replied.
    “I never take no for an answer,” Sir Jocelyn retorted. “Now come along and let’s get to know each other.”
    “I can only – repeat – no thank you ,” Torilla answered.
    Sir Jocelyn was just about to argue further when one of his friends called him from the other side of the room.
    He turned away from Torilla and with a swiftness born of fear, she slipped from her chair and out of the room without Sir Jocelyn being aware of it.
    With her bedroom door locked, she had thought she was safe from him.
    She had been in bed for some time when she had heard the occupant of the next room speaking to someone she thought must be his valet.
    He must have attended the races, she told herself, otherwise it would be unlikely that anyone of any great distinction should stay in this country inn.
    When she had travelled North