"Why on me?" I hastily inquired.
His black eyes blazed into mine.
"Well, I've sort of blackmailed you, haven't I?"
"Have you?"
"Into this engagement of ours."
"Oh, I haven't got time to think of that just now!" I snapped. "Let's go to Miss Reardon's rooms."
We went. Jim said no more, except to mention that Captain Lorillard had already gone up.
Joyce may have imagined Jim to be the "great friend interested in Robert's welfare," but as for me, I wondered how he knew Robert by sight. Then I scolded myself: "Silly one! Hasn't he been watching—playing detective for you?"
It was poignant, remembering the last time when Robert, Joyce, and I had met in Miss Reardon's sitting room—the last day of their happiness. But we greeted each other quietly, like old friends, though Joyce's heart must have contracted at sight of the man's changed face. All the renewed youth and joyous manhood her love had given him had burned out of his eyes. He looked as he'd looked when I saw him that day at River Orchard Cottage.
Miss Reardon was slightly nervous in manner, and flushed like a girl when I introduced Sir James Courtenaye to her. But soon she recovered her prim little poise, and began making arrangements for the séance.