“Very,” agreed Sir Richard, his eyes glinting under their heavy lids.
“I am not afraid of anything,” Pen announced. “Merely, I am shocked? ”
“A waste of time, believe me. Are you coming?”
“Yes, but it seems to me as though you have put a live coal in your pocket! What if some dishonest person were to steal it from you?”
“Then we shall be freed from all responsibility. Come along!”
She followed him out into the warm night. He appeared to have banished all thought of the necklace from his mind. He pointed various constellations out to her, and, drawing her hand through his arm, strolled with her down the street, past the last straggling cottages, into a lane redolent of meadowsweet.
“I suppose I was poor-spirited,” Pen confided presently. “Shall you feel obliged to denounce poor Jimmy Yarde to the Runner?”
“I hope,” said Sir Richard dryly, “that Mr Piers Luttrell is a gentleman of resolute character.”
“Why?”
“That he may be able to curb your somewhat reckless friendliness.”