“I say, won’t you stay here—oh do!”
“You can’t put everybody up,” said Gerald.
“Oh but I can, perfectly—there are three more beds besides mine—do stay, won’t you. Everything is quite ready—there is always somebody here—I always put people up—I love having the house crowded.”
“But there are only two rooms,” said the Pussum, in a cold, hostile voice, “now Rupert’s here.”
“I know there are only two rooms,” said Halliday, in his odd, high way of speaking. “But what does that matter?”
He was smiling rather foolishly, and he spoke eagerly, with an insinuating determination.
“Julius and I will share one room,” said the Russian in his discreet, precise voice. Halliday and he were friends since Eton.
“It’s very simple,” said Gerald, rising and pressing back his arms, stretching himself. Then he went again to look at one of the pictures. Every one of his limbs was turgid with electric force, and his back was tense like a tiger’s, with slumbering fire. He was very proud.
The Pussum rose. She gave a black look at Halliday, black and deadly, which brought the rather foolishly pleased smile to that young man’s face. Then she went out of the room, with a cold good-night to them all generally.
There was a brief interval, they heard a door close, then Maxim said, in his refined voice: