“No, no, no!” she exclaimed. “Not two of you together! Suppose anything happened!”
I smiled at her nervous fears.
“Nothing will happen, Mrs. Bryant—make your mind easy. Toby’s perfectly safe. And if Mr. Bryant would like a flight, I’m sure Toby would be pleased to take him.”
Toby was looking at Sylvia’s father with his enigmatic eyes.
“Of course I will,” he said. “But I don’t want to worry Mrs. Bryant. I will take Mr. Bryant another time.”
The conversation drifted off to other topics. At last, Mrs. Bryant rose for bed.
“And mind, Mr. Selwyn,” she warned him smilingly as she shook hands with him, “I shall try hard to persuade Sylvia not to go.”
“But you wont succeed, Mother!” announced Sylvia radiantly. “Good night, Toby. Good night, Mr. Esdaile!” With which parting shot she left us, and the lounge was suddenly horribly empty.
We sat there for yet some time, Toby and I, puffing at our pipes in silence. He leaned back on the settee, with his eyes closed. I was thinking—never mind what I was thinking; but my thoughts ranged far into the dreary future of my life. My glance fell on him, scrutinizing him, probing him, weighing him, as he lay there all unconscious of it. About his feelings I had no doubt. Were they reciprocated? I remembered that peculiarly attractive smile of his, the alluring touch of mystery about him—and almost hated him for them. That was the kind of thing which appealed to women, I reflected bitterly.