But when he appeared at the breakfast table the next morning he brought the only untroubled face to be seen there.
"I am going to New York this afternoon," announced Stuart somewhat bluntly, and Eben looked quickly up, frankly surprised.
"Running down for a day or two? You'll be back, of course?" he inquired, and the guest shook his head.
"No. I sha'n't be back at all."
"But your Broadway opening doesn't take place until October? Didn't you tell us that?"
"Perhaps. I'm not going on that account."
"Then why not finish out your vacation?"
"I have finished it."
The host looked at his guest and read in his eyes a defiant dislike and a repressed ferocity, but he chose to ignore it. The long-fostered urbanity of his make-believe must last a little longer. But at that moment Stuart's eyes met those of Conscience and he acknowledged a sense of chagrin.
After all, he was leaving to-day and whatever his feelings, he had so far been outwardly the beneficiary of Tollman's hospitality. Nothing was to be gained, except a sort of churlish satisfaction, by assuming at the eleventh hour a blunt and open hostility of manner.