There was a perceptible pause. Elizabeth was the first to recover herself. She made a step forward and put out her hand, which Brian instantly took in his. But neither of them spoke. Percival, with his back against the door, and his arms folded, observed them with a slightly humorous smile.
"You are surprised," he said to Elizabeth, "and I don't wonder. The last thing you expected was to find me on good terms with Brian Luttrell, was it not? And we have been on fairly good terms, have we not, Luttrell?"
"He saved my life twice," said Brian.
"And he nursed me through a fever," interposed Percival, with a huge laugh, "so we are quits. Oh, we have both played our parts in a highly creditable manner as long as we were on a desert island; but the island is inhabited now, and I think it's time that we returned to the habits of civilised life. As a matter of fact, I consider Brian Luttrell my deadliest enemy."
"You do nothing of the kind," said Brian, unable to repress a smile, although it hardly altered the look of pain that had come into his eyes. "Don't believe him, Miss Murray: I am glad to say that we are good friends."
"Idyllic simplicity! Don't you know that I did but dissemble, like the man in the play? How can we be friends when we both——" he stopped short, looked at Elizabeth, and then back at Brian, and finished his sentence—"both want to marry the same woman?"
"Heron, you are going too far. Don't make these allusions; they are unsuitable," said Brian.
Elizabeth had winced as if she had received a blow. Percival laughed in their faces.
"Out of taste, isn't it?" he said. "I ought to ignore the circumstances under which we meet, and talk as if we were in a drawing-room. I'm not such a fool. Look here, you two: let us talk sensibly. I have surely a right to demand something of you both, have I not?"
"Yes, yes, indeed," they answered.