“I know that you are a good friend,” he whispered, as she arose.
He did not care to remain with the group in Bessie’s absence. With a bow, he turned to stroll by himself down the veranda. But the minister jumped to his feet and called:
“Mr. Orme!”
Orme looked back. “Please be so good as to return,” continued the minister.
With mere politeness, Orme halted, and took a step back toward his chair.
An air of startled expectancy was manifest in the positions taken by the different members of the group. The minister’s voice had sounded sharp and authoritative, and he now stepped forward a pace or two, stopping at a point where the light from one of the clubhouse windows fell full on his face. Clearly he was laboring under great excitement.
“You have something to say to me?” inquired Orme. He foresaw an effort to detain him.
“I am compelled to ask the ladies to leave us for a few minutes,” said the minister, seriously. “There is a matter of utmos’ importance.”
He bowed. The women, hesitating in their embarrassment, rose and walked away, leaving the half-dozen men standing in a circle.
“I find myself in an awkward position,” began the minister, slowly. “I am a guest of your club, and I should never dream of saying what I mus’ say, were my own personal affairs alone involved. Let me urge that no one leave until I have done.”