But Roylance had not, and that night he said to Syd—
“Don’t trust him.”
“Trust whom?”
“Terry. I may be wrong, but if ever a fellow’s eyes looked one thing and meant another, his did this evening.”
“Fancy. He’s beaten, and he has given in, and so, I dare say, we shall be fairly good friends for the future.”
“Perhaps so,” said Roylance, dryly; “but I say, don’t trust him all the same. Keep on your guard.”
“Can’t. Impossible; and I couldn’t go on suspecting every one I saw.”
“No, not every one—this one.”
“Never mind that. Don’t suppose I shall have any cause to distrust him.”
“I hope you will not,” said Roylance, prophetically.