"Well, well," he said, when I had done, "I perceive that my thoughts have done you some injustice. And, after all, I am not sure but what your late coming is for the best. It has caused your friend no small anxiety, I admit. But against that we may set a gain of greater secrecy."
He picked up my hat from the floor, and placed it on the table.
"So," he continued, "you will pardon my roughness, but I have formed some affection for Sir Julian. 'Tis an unbusinesslike quality, and I trust to be well ashamed of it in a week's time. At the present, however, it angered me against you." He held out his hand with a genuine cordiality, and we made our peace.
"Now," said he, "the gist of the matter is this. It is all-essential that you be not observed and marked as a visitor to Sir Julian. Therefore 'twere best to wait until it is quite dark; and meanwhile we must think of some disguise."
"A disguise?" I exclaimed.
"Yes," said he. "You must have noticed from that window that there are others awake beside ourselves."
I stood silent for a moment, reluctantly considering a plan which had just flashed into my head. Vincott drew a flint and steel from his pocket, and lighted the candles--for the dusk was filling the room--and drew the curtains close. All at once the dizzy faintness which had come over me in the side-street near the Guildhall returned, and set the room spinning about me. I clutched at a chair to save myself from falling. Vincott snatched up a candle, and looked shrewdly into my face.
"When did you dine?" he asked.
"At breakfast-time," said I.
He opened the door, and rang a bell which stood on a side-table. "Lucy!" he bawled over the bannisters.