“She must be very gullable,” said Geoffrey brutally.
“Or else,” said McVay with a conscious smile, “I must be a pretty good dissembler.”
At this acute instance of fatuity Geoffrey, if he had followed his impulse, would have flung McVay back in the closet and locked the door. Instead, he said:
“Come down stairs. I want to look up something to eat.”
“Thank you,” said the burglar, “it would be a good idea.”
“You need not thank me,” said Geoffrey. “I don’t take you with me for the pleasure of your company, but because I don’t dare let you out of my sight.”
McVay, as was his habit when anything unpleasant was said, chose to ignore this speech.
“You know,” he said, as they went down stairs, “I suppose that most men shut up in a closet for all those hours would take it as a hardship, but, to me it was a positive rest. I really in a way enjoyed it. It is one of my theories that every one ought to have resources within. Now I dare say you were quite anxious about me.”
“I never thought of you at all,” said Geoffrey. “After I got in I went to sleep for three hours.”
McVay looked at him once or twice, in surprise. Then he said with dignity: “Asleep? Well, really, Holland, I don’t think that was very considerate.”