"Yes, I think that must be so. She'll find it out and go somewhere else. O'Reilly isn't——"
There he had stopped short when the girl raised her head to face them; and when she presently vanished into his friend's room like a whirlwind, he neither finished his sentence nor answered his wife.
"What's the matter, Jack?" Mrs. Heron asked. "How odd you look!"
("Jack" was not a nickname that suited Heron, but his wife thought it debonair.)
"Why don't you speak?" she persisted.
"I was thinking," Heron said at last.
"Thinking what we ought to do?" his wife caught him up. "Shall we knock and ask O'Reilly if he's ready to go down with us?"
"No. We can't do that."
"I suppose not. But weren't you going to say it isn't like O'Reilly to have a girl calling on him in his rooms?"
"I don't remember what I was going to say," he snubbed her. "It doesn't matter, anyhow. After all, why shouldn't he? What is it to us?"