“I am—I never was before but I must have had a talent for it, I’ve taken to it so well.”
“Oh, Hugh!” Her laughter came more naturally, his with it. They were like a pair of children, delighting in a little secret. “Won’t they be surprised when they hear? Nobody has a suspicion of it.”
She looked so enchanting with her eyebrows arched in mischievous query that he made a movement to clasp her again, and then came the creak of an opening door from the floor above.
“Hist!” she held up a warning hand and slid away, her face, glancing back for a last look, beautiful in its radiant joy.
Bassett moved to the stair-foot. Once again he had to come down to earth with a bump. He passed his hand over his face as if to wipe off an expression incompatible with disagreeable interviews. This must be Joe.
It was Joe, dressed for travel in knickerbockers and a Norfolk jacket, a golf cap on the back of his head. He carried an overcoat across his arm, in his hands a suit-case and a fishing-rod done up in a canvas case. At the sight of Bassett he halted, and the elder man noticed a change in his expression, a quick focusing to attention.
“Oh,” he said. “Want to see me, Bassett?”
“Yes, I want to speak to you before you go.”
Joe descended. Stopping a step above Bassett, he set down his baggage and leaned on the banister, politely waiting.
Bassett spoke with lowered voice: