"In ten minutes at least," laughed Kaire, "or in five, Heaven knows if we can make it, we shall all be off!" With a quite unnecessary air of diablerie he turned and chucked Daphne under the chin.
From the further side of the lamp, beyond the unmistakable 180 architect, beyond the unmistakable trustee, a figure not yet distinct, rose slowly into view. It was John Burnarde. Very courteously he advanced towards his host. Not a muscle of his face twitched, not an accent of his voice either lifted or fell.
"Truly, Mr. Kaire," he suggested smilingly as one might have smiled at a maniac, "don't you think perhaps it might be better to finish the discussion outside? No matter what a bachelor may contend his rights to be as regards his personal affairs with women, you will hardly insist, I think, on pursuing said affair while my mother and President Merriwayne remain your guests? Surely, tomorrow, when you are more yourself again——"
"I am not drunk!" flared Sheridan Kaire, "and what's more you haven't seen me drunk this whole week more than once! Or, at most, twice!"
"Drunk or sober," said John Burnarde quite unflinchingly, "I request that you do not involve us in any of your escapades!"
"Escapades?" scoffed Kaire. "You——"
From the shadow to which she had partly retreated, Daphne sprang 181 out, and brushed the bright hair from her eyes.
"Why John!" she cried, "don't you know me? It's Daphne! Daphne Bretton!"
"What?" staggered the new dean. "You? Why, Daphne! Why——"
"What difference is it to you who it is?" interposed Kaire a bit roughly.