He looked around the table at the eagerly smiling faces, and he smiled himself—a broad grin.
“One missing, isn’t there?” he asked. “Who was sitting in this place?”
There was a moment’s silence.
“Oh, there?” said Serena. “Miss Moriarty. She’s gone upstairs with a bad headache.”
“I see!” said Page, still grinning.
“I suppose I really ought to go up and see how the poor girl’s getting on,” continued Serena.
“Oh, no!” he said suavely. “Don’t go! Wait a bit, and perhaps she’ll come back.”
There was another silence.
“We don’t want to sit here!” cried Betty Anson nervously, pushing back her chair. “Let’s go!”
“I like to sit here,” said Page. He poured himself another whisky, and lit a cigarette. “I think I’ll have a demi-tasse and a sandwich. You people must keep me company. Don’t go, Betty!”