“No. Was I talking aloud?” said Trevor.
“You were, and very fast,” was the reply.
“But what’s the matter, Franky? What’s the letter?”
And he pointed to an open missive in his friend’s hand.
“It’s about that I’ve come to you,” said Pratt. “Read.”
Trevor took the note, glanced over it, and found it was an invitation to Mr Frank Pratt to dine at Tolcarne on the following Friday. This brought Trevor’s thoughts back to the letters Lloyd had given him, and he hastily took them from his pocket, to find a similar invitation to the one Pratt had had placed in his hand.
“That’s lucky,” he said, brightening.
“Lucky—why?” said Pratt.
“Because I want to go. But why are you looking so doleful?”
“Natural aspect, Dick. I only came to tell you I should not go.”