“Then, it is not——”
He stopped at the sound of a footstep outside the door. I recognized it in an instant.
“Here is Willy!” I gasped, in tones from which I vainly tried to banish the sudden inward despair which possessed me. The door opened, letting in a blaze of light, and Willy, followed by Roche with a lamp, came into the room.
The necessity of the moment gave me a fictitious courage. Pushing back my chair, I jumped up to meet him with an ease and cordiality intended to cover his embarrassment and my own.
“So here you are back, Willy! We have been wondering what had become of you.”
He did not look at me as we shook hands, but he answered, in a voice as successfully friendly as my own—
“I was forced to go up to Cork on business. I thought I could get down last night, but I couldn’t manage it. How are you, Nugent?” he went on stiffly. “You’ll have a pretty wet drive home. It was pouring when I came in.”
Nugent at once took the hint thus broadly given.
“Yes, I dare say I shall,” he said coolly. “Would you order my trap, please?”—turning to Roche, who had not yet left the room. “Good night, Miss Sarsfield. Does that ride hold good?”
He had taken my hand in his as he said good night, and he still held it with a strong pressure. Something weighed down my eyelids—I could not meet his eyes again, and I answered hurriedly—