“But, Gordon, how is it you’re back? I had a wire this morning from Inverness. You couldn’t have got back——”
“By aeroplane,” said Gordon without a blush. “I had a feeling that all was not well with you.”
“Gordon, did you really?” Her colour came and went. “You are psychic, aren’t you? And Gordon, dear, you’ve had your whiskers shaved!”
He nodded gravely.
“I meant to tell you I intended doing that—you once said that you did not like them. No more than that was necessary. They vanished in the twinkling of an eye.”
It was Gordon’s moment. He was colossal.
Eleanor opened the front door to a gentleman who was difficult to place.
“Miss Ford at home?”
“Yes, sir, but she’s engaged.”
The stranger had no visiting-card apparently, for he announced himself.