Traill tramped into the other room and came out, struggling with a collar.
"Oh, last September, wasn't it?"
"Something like that, getting on for a year. How is she?"
"Oh, first rate. Will you have a drink?"
"No, thanks, old man. Where are you going to?"
"I'm dining with my sister. Going to some theatre, I believe."
"Ah, I saw your sister the other day, about a couple of weeks ago." He seated himself, hitching his trousers above the uppers of his boots. "Prince's, I think it was. Yes, she was skating with that Miss Standish-Roe."
"Yes, she's coming with my sister and me this evening."
"Is she?" Again his eye lifted to Traill's face. "Damned pretty girl."
Traill did not reply. Had he made some casual answer in the affirmative, the man's eyes might not have followed him as he walked back into his bedroom; the humorous twist of the man's lips might not have been visible. There would have been no thought to create it.