Yorke stands with downcast, overclouded face, and the young viscount, after regarding him attentively, says:
"Look here, Auchester, I know what it is, you don't want to run against her just now. Got friends up there, eh?" and he nods his head in the direction of the tower.
"No, I do not want to see her, and I certainly don't want her to see me," assents Yorke. "If you can manage to take her away, Vinson!"
He lays his hand on the young fellow's shoulder, and Vinson, who is never so delighted as when doing a service for his friend, nods intelligently.
"I see. All right, you leave it to me." He pulls out his watch. "I'll get her away at once; in fact, it's time we started. Don't you be uneasy."
"Thanks," says Yorke, and his brow lifts a little. "When does she go back?"
"To-night; she plays to-morrow."
Yorke's brow clears completely, and he smiles.
"Off with you, then," he says. "I'm awfully obliged to you, Vinson. You are right; I don't want the—the people I am with to see her."
Vinson looks up at the tower curiously, and rather wistfully.