“I sat here tonight," again she pushed at the door, "for one specific purpose. I wished to say—" She stopped. "From what I had heard of your behaviour from certain sources, I was beginning to believe you possessed the qualities (and also the imperfections, which are just as necessary) of a gentleman."
There was a pause.
At this point (perhaps) Martin might have ended the feud. But he didn't trust the old girl an inch, not one inch. And his face showed it
"Thank you," he said gravely. "You sat here tonight to tell me that?"
"Yes, yes, of course!" retorted his companion, with rather too much haste, "What other reason could there have been?" "I can't say."
"But I no longer," snapped Lady Brayle, "think my belief to have been a true one." Her voice became colourless. "It remains only for me to give you your orders. On the table beside you you will find a yellow pill. Take that with water from the glass, and lie back. Tomorrow you will be perfectly fit"
Martin, putting down cigarette and lighter, instantly threw back the bed-clothes and slid his legs out of bed. He was wearing his own pyjamas, and his slippers were beside the bed.
"If you don't mind, Lady Brayle," he suggested pointedly, "I'd like to get dressed. — You've guessed, of course, that Jenny and I are to be married."
"That Captain Drake, can await discussion later."
"Can I reach you tomorrow morning?"