Sir Anthony raised his eyebrows a moment. “You’re very positive about it,” he remarked.
She looked up. “I offend you, sir,” she said directly.
“By no means. But I wonder why you will not come?”
“It is not will not, Sir Anthony. I would like above all things to join you, but as I have said — ”
“To be sure: those engagements,” nodded Sir Anthony, and turned away.
Prudence was left to stand alone in the middle of the room. She felt curiously forlorn, for it was evident Sir Anthony was not pleased.
Belfort called to her to come and throw a main with him. She moved across to his table, and out of the corner of her eye saw Sir Anthony sitting down to faro by the window. There was no getting near him after that; she became a prey to Lord Barham, who deigned to recognise her, and was conscious of a protective influence withdrawn. She was forced to play with my lord, and she lost rather heavily, and knew the reason. Escaping at length, she engaged on a hand at picquet with the optimistic Jollyot, and presently took leave of her host, complaining of the headache. The serious grey eyes travelled towards the faro table somewhat wistfully; Sir Anthony looked up.
There was a hard look on his face; he met the grey eyes coolly, and Prudence saw the fine mouth unsmiling. She turned aside to the door, and heard his deep voice speak. “Oh, are you off, Merriot? Stay a moment, I’ll bear you company.”
Five minutes later they were descending the steps into the street, and Sir Anthony drawled — “How came you out of that bout with Rensley, my fair youth?”
“Badly,” Prudence replied evenly. She misliked the ironic note in the gentleman’s voice.