He looked at me, confounded.
“Why, hang it all,” he said, “how can you refuse to play with a man after you’ve eaten his dinner? Besides, can’t you see that it isn’t he who wants to play at all? It was I who proposed it and even then he wasn’t keen.”
“All beastly cunning!” I muttered angrily. But I could say no more, for de Cartienne and Mr. Fothergill had retraced their steps to look for us and Cecil had started off towards them.
In a few moments we reached the “Rose and Crown” and walked straight into the little parlour at the back. Miss Milly was sitting there by herself in semi-darkness, with a very disconsolate face. She brightened up, however, at our entrance.
“All by yourself, Milly?” exclaimed Cecil, letting go my arm and moving to her side. “In tears, too, I believe! No news, I suppose?”
She shook her head sadly.
“None! I have almost lost hope,” she added.
Then she glanced questioningly at Mr. Fothergill, and Cecil introduced him in an informal sort of way and explained our visit.
“We’ve come to drink up all your wine and have a quiet game at cards instead of staying all the evening at the ‘Bull.’ You can put us in the sitting-room out of the way, can’t you?”
“Oh, yes!” she answered eagerly. “How good of you to come here! We’ve been dreadfully quiet the last few days—scarcely anyone in at all, and I have been so dull. Come this way, please. I’m so glad I had the fire lit.”