Reggy's finger touched a cigarette-butt that lay on the tray; his glance was accusing.
"I admit it," said Rosalind coldly. "Is there any reason why I should not?"
Reggy made a disapproving gesture, but answered not.
"There are two more on the hearth," she added, pointing.
"But, Rosalind—"
"I am exceedingly fond of them. That is sufficient."
She spoke with a finality that discouraged him, which was exactly what she intended. Mentally she added another mark to the score against the boatman.
The stout young man had been placed in a stiff-backed chair near a window. The butler stood vigilantly at his side, ready to descend upon him if he made a suspicious move. But the prisoner was inert. All volition as well as speech had deserted him.
Mr. Davidson paced the library, talking volubly. Now and then he halted in front of his victim and glowered at him belligerently. That young man was too impassive even to think. He seemed utterly uninterested in his fate.
Mr. Witherbee tried to insinuate a chair under the legs of Reggy Williams, which brought an outraged snort from that gentleman. Rosalind was beginning to feel the tension. Would the boatman never go? Or had he gone?