"She probably thought she could look after herself. Besides, wasn't he going to British Guiana?"
"He was," replied John. "At least he was going to some tropical colony. I've heard so many mentioned that I'm beginning myself to forget which it was now. So that's why he didn't go. But he shall go. If I have to have him kidnaped and spend all my savings on chartering a private yacht for the purpose, by Heaven, he shall go. If he shrivels up like a burnt sausage the moment he puts his foot on the beach he shall be left there to shrivel. The rascal! When does he pester her? Where?"
"Don't get so excited. Doris is perfectly capable of looking after herself. Besides, I think she rather likes him in a way."
"Never," John cried.
"Liver is finished, sair," said the officious waiter, dancing in again between John and Miss Merritt.
John shook his fist at him and leant earnestly over the table with one elbow in the butter.
"You don't seriously suggest that she is in love with him?" he asked.
"No, I don't think so. But I met him myself once and took rather a fancy to him. No, she just likes him as a friend. It's he who's in love with her."
"Under my very eyes," John ejaculated. "Why, it's overwhelming."
A sudden thought struck him that even at this moment while he was calmly eating lunch with Miss Merritt, as he somewhat loosely qualified the verb, Hugh might be making love to Miss Hamilton in his own house.