She took up her cue with a little sigh of half-puzzled relief. They played two games, the second one at John's insistence. Then the butler brought in whisky and soda.
"Is there anything further to-night, madam?" he asked, after he had arranged the tray.
"Nothing," Lady Hilda answered. "You can go to bed."
They played the last game almost in silence. Then Lady Hilda replaced her cue in the rack and threw herself into one of the easy chairs.
"Bring me a whisky-and-soda," she said. "We'll have one cigarette before we go to bed."
John obeyed her, and sat by her side. She looked at him a little questioningly. His unhesitating acceptance of the situation had puzzled her. There was nothing but the slightest change in his manner to denote his realization of the fact that the house-party was a sham.
"I believe you are cross," she exclaimed suddenly.
"On the contrary," John replied, "I have had a thoroughly delightful day."
"You don't like people who tell fibs," she went on. "You know quite well, now, that my house-party was a farce. I never asked the Daunceys, I never sent a telegram to Fred. It was simply rotten luck that he rang me up. I asked you down here to spend the week-end with me—alone."
He looked her in the face, without the slightest change of expression.