"The least he could do would be to leave that to her."
"She'd say just the same," Neeld assured him. "I'm convinced there'll be no question of anything of the kind."
"Then it's very awkward," Iver grumbled crossly.
In all his varied experience of the Imp—which included, it may be remembered, a good deal of plain-speaking and one embrace—Neeld had never found her in such a state as governed her this evening. Mason gave him tea while she walked restlessly about; he gathered that Mason was dying to talk but had been sore wounded in an encounter with Mina already, and was now perforce holding his tongue.
"They'll be here by seven, and you and I are to dine with them," she told him. "Quite informally."
"Dear me, I—I don't think I want——" he began.
"Hush!" she interrupted. "Are you going to be all day with those things, Mason?"
"I hope I haven't been slower than usual, ma'am," said Mason very stiffly.
At last he went. In an instant Mina darted across to Neeld, and caught him by the arm. "What have you to tell me?" she cried.
"To tell you? I? Oh, dear, no, Madame Zabriska! I assure you——"