“Peckton!” exclaimed George Neston, loudly and abruptly.
Neaera made a sudden motion with one hand—a sudden motion suddenly checked—and her fan dropped with a clatter on the polished boards.
Gerald dived for it, so did Mr. Blodwell, and their heads came in contact with such violence as to drive all reminiscences of Recorder Dawkins out of Mr. Blodwell’s brain. They were still indulging in recriminations, when Neaera swiftly left them, crossed to Lord Tottlebury, and took her leave.
George went to open the door for her. She looked at him curiously.
“Will you come and see me, Mr. Neston?” she asked.
He bowed gravely, answering nothing.
The party broke up, and as George was seeing Mr. Blodwell’s bulk fitted into a four-wheeler, the old gentleman asked,
“Why did you do that, George?”
“What?”
“Jump, when I said Peckton.”