Lady Moyne looked at me with an expression of wonder on her face. Her eyes opened very wide.
“Surely,” she said, “you don’t expect him to run away.”
“Of course not,” said Moyne; “of course not. And there’s really no risk. I’ll—”
“That’s not the kind of people we are,” said Lady Moyne.
“I’ll join you at Castle Affey in a couple of days,” said Moyne.
“Castle Affey,” said Lady Moyne. “I’m not going to Castle Affey. I’m going to London.”
“What for?” I said. “And how are you going to get there? There are no steamers on Sunday night.”
“I’m taking possession of Mr. Conroy’s yacht,” said Lady Moyne. “She’s lying off Bangor, and that young man, Mr. Power, said we could have her. We’ll get across to Stranraer this evening, and I’ll have a special train and be in London to-morrow morning.”
“London!” said Moyne. “But why London? Surely Castle Affey—”