"Simply pestered with admirers!" Patricia informed the slow-curling blue vapours that twisted fantastically between her and the man. But she was tumultuously glad that he had actually and as a matter of course spoken the phrase....
"Go on."
"Between ourselves, Miss O'Neill, Upton is not to be trusted."
"Fancy! And I thought him such a harmless well-spoken young fellow."
"Not so very young; over thirty. He'll try and make you trust in his sincerity, and in certain of his moods he's rather plausible. But don't. Stick like grim death to the notion that he only needs white spats and a dyed moustache to make him the complete villain of popular melodrama. Remember that—and you'll be all right. His inner nature is villainous. Believe me, my dear Miss O'Neill, I'm speaking as much for Dacres' good as for yours."
"Oh, I believe you, my man. I had a sort of inkling that Dacres' good came somewhere into this merry little pastime of yours."
Very seriously Upton looked down into the mocking lure of her eyes: "I'm not sure that it is a pastime. Pat, I warn you—I can't do more—that I'm not to be trusted."
"I hate to boast," retorted the girl, "but neither am I!"
He laughed. And took her in his arms....