Frobisher lay back in his chair, and laughed silently. He was quite satisfied that he had found a most profitable investment for his five hundred pounds. In great good-humour he pressed cigarettes upon Lopez.
"We are a fine couple," he said gaily. "With my brain to plot and yours to weave, we might possess the universe. Again, it shall be done; Lady Frobisher shall take up Mrs. Benstein. Lord, what a pleasant time I shall have at luncheon!"
He lay back in his chair chuckling and croaking long after Lopez had departed. The second luncheon gong sounded before he rose and made his way to the dining-room. Lady Frobisher, tall and slim and exquisitely patrician, had already taken her place at the table. Angela came in a moment later with a murmured apology for keeping the others waiting.
"You have both been out?" Frobisher asked in his politest manner. "Riding, eh? Is there anything new?"
Lady Frobisher was languidly of opinion that there was nothing fresh. Most people were looking fagged and worn out owing to the heat of the season; she was feeling it herself.
"It's a treat to see some suggestion of the open country," she said in her languid way. "For instance, we met Harold Denvers. He was like a whiff of the sea to us."
Frobisher shot a lightning glance at Angela. Try as she would, she could not keep the colour from her face. And in that instant Frobisher knew the meaning of Angela's secret visit downstairs a night or two before. Angela also knew that he guessed; the flame on her cheek grew almost painful.
"So he's back," Frobisher said, with a suppressed chuckle in his voice. "Don't you ask him here."
"As if he would come," Angela exclaimed indignantly. "I am sure Lady Frobisher would not do anything of the kind. She would as soon ask that impossible Benstein woman!"
A queer light flamed into Frobisher's eyes. Luck had given him an opening sooner than he had expected. He was prepared to lead up to his point by tortuous means.