He dined that evening at his club with a couple of friends one of whom gave a rather startling turn to his beatific thoughts by an allusion to Clarence Massey’s mad infatuation for some girl whom he had “picked up in a curiosity shop somewhere in the slums.”
Lauriston made no comment, and did not betray by a look that the remark had an interest for him. The little Irishman had taken care not to indulge in his ravings over his unknown beauty in the presence of the comrade whom he had tricked. But the words of Rahas, on the preceding evening, had given Lauriston a clue to his own visit to 36 Mary Street, and this startling reference to Massey’s share in the matter strengthened his resolution to give that amorous and artful young gentleman a lesson.
Lauriston went home early, with the fixed intention of settling up this matter with as little delay as possible, and on arriving at his quarters he found his intention strengthened and the means of carrying it out provided, in a very unexpected manner.
As he was going up the stairs to his rooms, he was met by his soldier-servant, who told him that a lady had been waiting to see him for the last two hours. Lauriston hurried on in great excitement. Neither Nouna nor Mrs. Ellis knew his address, his sisters were in Scotland, and he had not, like some of his comrades, a circle of lively and easy-mannered feminine acquaintances. His thoughts flew directly to the woman who had followed him home the night before: perhaps the mystery was going to be solved after all; perhaps he should indeed see Nouna’s mother.
Before he reached his rooms he heard voices; a few steps more and he could distinguish that of Clarence Massey; arrived at the door of the sitting-room, the soft tones of Nouna herself struck his ears.
“No,” she was saying, “I shall not kiss you; Mr. Lauriston would be very angry with you for asking me.”
“Bless you, you little beauty, no, he wouldn’t. He’d be delighted to know you were enjoying yourself,” answered Massey confidently.
Lauriston threw open the door just as Massey, who had been sitting on a stool a few paces from the sofa where Nouna half-sat, half-reclined, sprang up and seized the hand with which she was wearily supporting her head.
Nouna jumped up, clapping her hands with joy like a child, and ran towards Lauriston, who, livid, wet, and trembling, did not even look at her, but striding across to Massey without a word, lifted him up in his arms with the sullen fury of an enraged bear, and carrying him to the door, which he opened with a kick, flung him pell-mell, anyhow, like a heap of soiled clothes against the wall, as far along the corridor as he could throw him. Then slamming the door to work off the remains of his rage, he turned to the frightened girl, who had fallen on her knees and was clinging about his feet.