"In that case," said a smooth voice at her elbow, "you will be tired at seeing me."
Lesbia started to her feet with a cry, and George with an exclamation of astonishment. As to Tim, he scrambled to his feet with an oath. "Augh, murther! murther!" cried the Irishman, "it's the black divil his own silf."
"That's complimentary," said Hale, who was standing calm and composed near the lovers. "You were so busily engaged talking, Lesbia, that you did not hear me come down the path."
"How dare you come here?" said the girl indignantly.
"It's my own house. I had the key," retorted Hale coolly. "I opened the front door and entered. Finding no one within I came here and find that Tim is giving me away. But I am not so black as I am painted."
"You are much worse, I daresay," said George bluntly.
"Oh, you're there, you lucky young man," said Hale, raising his eyebrows. "I congratulate you on marrying Lesbia and on getting the money."
"In spite of all your plotting," said Walker sharply.
Hale sat down on the bench with a sudden look of fatigue. He was cool and smiling and bore himself both shamelessly and dauntlessly. But it was apparent that he behaved thus out of bravado. In spite of his boldness, and of the fact that he was dressed as carefully as ever, he was thoroughly ill and had his back to the wall.
"You had better leave this place," said Lesbia, to her lover, "the police are hunting for you."