"By and by, I think. It will keep."
Silence again, and Roy debated afresh. What if his action should mean bringing Curtis into trouble? That thought had considerable weight.
Three times he formed with his lips the preliminary "I say, Den!" and three times he refrained. The third time some slight sound escaped him, for Denham asked drowsily, "Anything you want?"
"Lucille told me not to talk. Does it matter?"
Ivor did not protest, as Roy had half hoped. He was evidently dropping off, and Roy decided that a short delay was unavoidable. He took up a volume that lay near, and, being no longer a book-hater, he became absorbed in its contents. General Wirion, chips of wood, the Imperial nose, and irate landladies faded out of his mind. The affair was no doubt a pity, but after all it meant only—so Roy supposed—a pull upon his father's purse. Boys are rather apt to look upon parental purses as unlimited in depth.
Denham was sound asleep, and Roy kept as motionless as a girl—not that girls are always quiet. An hour passed; another half-hour; and he began to grow restless. Might it be possible to slip away?
Gruff voices and heavy trampling feet in the hall below broke into the stillness, and Denham woke up. "This is lazy work," he said wearily. "Roy—here yet! What time is it?"
"Nearly five. Dinner isn't till six. Head any better?"
"Yes, rather. I'm wretched company for you to-day. Different to-morrow, I hope."
"You can't help it. You've just got to get rested, that's all. I say, what a noise they are making downstairs. Frenchmen do kick up such a rumpus about everything."